GIFT  OF 
Class   of   1900 


THE  SHOES  OF  HAPPINESS 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BOOKS  BY  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

"  The  Man  with  the  Hoe,  and  Other  Poems  "    .     .  $1.00 

Frontispiece,  Millet's  famous  painting  of  the  Hoe  Man 

"  The  Man  with  the  Hoe,  and  Other  Poems  "    .    .     2.00 

With  illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle 

"The  Man  with   the  Hoe,  with  Notes  by  the 

Author" 50 

"  Lincoln,  and  Other  Poems  " i.oo 

Frontispiece,  portrait  of  Lincoln 

"  The  Shoes  of  Happiness,  and  Other  Poems  "  (New)     i  .20 

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Profusely  illustrated  (New) 

"  Children  in  Bondage  " :  The  Child  Labor  Problem     1.50 

(New) 


<THE 
SHOES  OF  HAPPINESS 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  THIRD  BOOK  OF   VERSE 


BY 

EDWIN  MARKHAM 

0   0 

AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  MAN  WITH  THE  HOE,  AND  OTHER  POEMS,"  ETC. 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 


Copyright,  ipij,  by 

CENTURY  Co. 
Copyright,  1915,  by 
EDWIN  MARKHAM 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages^ 

including  the  Scandinavian 


5 
•(( 

Al/^j 


TO 

ANNA  HEMPSTEAD  BRANCH 

FAR  KINSWOMAN,  NEAR  FRIEND,   GREAT  POET 


322563 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE 

This  is  Edwin  Markham's  first  volume  of  verse 
after  a  silence  of  fourteen  years.  The  volume  was 
announced  under  the  title  of  "Virgilia  and  Other 
Poems,"  but,  at  the  last  moment,  it  is  thought  best 
to  make  ((The  Shoes  of  Happiness"  (from  the  recent 
Christmas  Century)  the  titular  poem.  "Virgilia" 
will  be  found  on  an  early  page.  It  attracted  wide 
attention  and  caused  prolonged  discussion  on  its 
first  appearance — was  violently  attacked  in  print 
and  enthusiastically  defended.  The  sequel  to  "Vir 
gilia"  called  "The  Homing  Heart,"  on  its  first 
appearance,  is  called  in  these  pages  "The  Crowning 
Hour." 

There  is  a  notable  timeliness  about  many  of  the 
poems:  those  under  "Social  Vision"  and  "War  and 
Peace"  have  a  special  interest  in  the  personal  unrest 
among  the  nations. 

The  poems  in  this  volume  have  appeared  in 
various  American  and  English  periodicals — chiefly 
in  The  Century,  The  Cosmopolitan,  Collier's  Weekly, 
Nautilus  Magazine,  The  Youth's  Companion,  The 
Delineator,  The  Independent,  The  Semi-Monthly 

vii 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE 

Magazine,  The  Christian  Herald,  The  New  York 
American,  The  New  York  Herald,  The  London 
Express. 

" The  Juggler  of  Touraine,"  the  narrative  poem 
on  page  30,  is  founded  on  an  old  legend,  the  most  re 
markable  of  the  medieval  legends  of  the  Madonna. 
It  can  be  found  in  a  little  volume  called  "Our  Lady's 
Tumbler,"  translated  from  the  old  French  by  Isabel 
Butler,  and  also  in  a  little  story  from  the  skilful  pen 
of  Anatole  France.  There  are  other  variants  of  the 
legend,  and  all  have  helped  in  the  present  rendering. 
Mr.  Markham  has  made  free  with  the  old  legend, 
suppressing  parts  and  adding  both  color  and  incident 
from  his  own  invention.  This  Markhamic  version  is 
the  first  appearance  of  the  legend  in  modern  verse. 


viii 


CONTENTS 
VOLUNTARIES 

PAGE 

OUTWITTED I 

THE  GRAY  NORNS 2 

THE  SONG  MYSTERY 3 

WIND   AND   LYRE 4 

VILLON 5 

I 

SIX  STORIES 

THE  SHOES  OF  HAPPINESS 9 

THE  JUGGLER  OF  TOURAINE 30 

HOW  OSWALD  DINED   WITH   GOD 47 

THE   CUP  OF  PRIDE $1 

HOW  THE   GREAT  GUEST  CAME 56 

THE   ACCUSING  GOLD 6l 

II 

LOVE  AND  YOUTH 

VIRGILIA 65 

THE  CROWNING  HOUR 74 

LION   AND  LIONESS 82 

III 

GREEN  HILLS  AND  WINDY  WAYS 

AT  FRIENDS  WITH  LIFE 85 

WIND  ON  THE   RYE 87 

ON  THE   SUISUN  HILLS 88 

THE  HEART'S  RETURN gi 

ix 


x  CONTENTS 

IV 
SCRIPT  FOR  THE  JOURNEY 

PAGE 
MAN-TEST  95 

THE   PILGRIM 97 

THE  DEEP  OF   GOD 98 


VICTORY  IN  DEFEAT 


99 


THE  HIDDEN  GLACIER IOO 

A  WORKMAN  TO  THE  GODS IOI 

REVELATION IO2 

"SHINE  ON  ME,  SECRET  SPLENDOR" 103 

ANCHORED  TO  THE  INFINITE 104 

ONE  MUSIC 105 

SWUNG  TO   THE   VOID IO6 

THE   PLACE   OF  PEACE IO8 

REST  IN  FLIGHT 109 

THEY  WAIT  FOR  YOU HO 

RECORDS   IN   THE   JUDGMENT  BOOK      .....  Ill 


V 

SOCIAL  VISION 

EARTH  IS  ENOUGH 115 

CONSCRIPTS   OF  THE   DREAM Il6 

THE    TESTIMONY  OF   THE   DUST Il8 

THE   BARD I2O 

THE   CHATEAU  BAGATELLE 122 

THE   FEAR   FOR   THEE,   MY  COUNTRY 124 

THE   RIGHT  TO   LABOR  IN  JOY 126 

THE  PERIL   OF  EASE 128 

A   COMRADE   CALLED   BACK I2Q 

FREEDOM 132 

THE  JEWS 134 

LOVE'S  HERO-WORLD 138 

COURAGE,  ALL! 140 


CONTENTS  xi 

VI 
WAR  AND  PEACE 

PACK 

THE  CHANT  OF  THE  VULTURES 143 

AN  APRIL  GREETING 146 

VII 

PERSONS  AND  PLACES 

SAINT  PATRICK 153 

A  FRIEND   OF   THE   FIELDS 157 

CONSECRATED  GROUND l6o 

THE   FRIENDLY  DOOR 164 

MANHATTAN l66 

SAN  FRANCISCO  FALLING 169 

SAN  FRANCISCO  ARISING I7O 

VIII 
THE  HERO  OF  THE  CROSS 

THE  LORD  OF  ALL 175 

THE  CONSECRATION  OF  THE  COMMON  WAY 177 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  MAGI 179 

THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  SEPULCHER 182 

AFTER  THE  SEPULCHER                           .   .  l86 


VOLUNTARIES 


OUTWITTED 

He  drew  a  circle  that  shut  me  out — 
Heretic,  rebel,  a  thing  to  flout. 
But  Love  and  I  had  the  wit  to  win: 
We  drew  a  circle  that  took  him  in! 


THE  GRAY  NORNS 

What  do  you  bring  in  your  sacks,  Gray 
Girls? 

"Sea-sand  and  sorrow." 
What  is  that  mist  that  behind  you  whirls? 

"The  souls  of  to-morrow." 

What   are   those   shapes   on   the   windy 

coasts  ? 

"The  dead  souls  going." 
But  what  are  the  loads  on  the  backs  of  the 

ghosts? 
"The  seed  of  their  sowing." 


THE  SONG  MYSTERY 

If  it  touches  the  heart  of  a  Poet, 
The  gods  and  the  ages  will  know  it; 

For  over  the  waters  and  crags  of  time 
The  winds  of  the  world  will  blow  it. 


If  ever  the  Bard  shall  bring  it, 
The  hands  of  the  Fates  will  wing  it; 
And  lo,  it  will  travel  from  world  to 

world, 
Till  the  kings  of  Orion  sing  it! 


WIND  AND  LYRE 

Thou  art  the  wind  and  I  the  lyre: 

Strike,  0  Wind,  on  the  sleeping  strings — 
Strike  till  the  dead  heart  stirs  and  sings ! 

I  am  the  altar  and  thou  the  fire: 
Burn,  0  Fire,  to  a  snowy  flame — 
Burn  me  clean  of  the  mortal  blame! 

I  am  the  night  and  thou  the  dream: 
Touch  me  softly  and  thrill  me  deep, 
When  all  is  white  on  the  hills  of  sleep. 

Thou  art  the  moon  and  I  the  stream: 
Shine  to  the  trembling  heart  of  me, 
Light  my  soul  to  the  mother-sea. 


VILLON 

HE    STILL    COMPLAINETH    OF    HIS    PITEOUS 
PLIGHT 

Here  am  I  now  in  a  piteous  plight, 
Doused  and  dour  in  a  hell,  you  see; 

For  I  slipt  and  fell  in  the  mortal  fight: 
I  was  one,  but  the  Fates  were  three! 

I  lived  the  life  of  the  kites  and  crows 
Up  in  the  boughs  of  a  tossing  tree, 

And  went  to  the  wind  as  a  dead  leaf  goes: 
I  was  one,  but  the  Fates  were  three! 

Light  were  the  touches  of  lip  to  lip, 

But  grim  the  wrestle  for  bread,  pardie, 
So  the  feet  would  slide  and  the  fingers 

slip: 

I  was  one,  but  the  Fates  were  three! 
s 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Here  are  Lais  and  Lesbia,  too, 

Ladies  that  once  were  the  world  to  me : 
Now  they  are  less  than  the  foam  that  flew 

A  man  is  one,  but  the  Fates  are  three! 


SIX  STORIES 


THE  SHOES  OF  HAPPINESS 

THE     EVENTFUL     STORY    OF     THE     SULTAN 

MAHMOUD    AND    OF    HALIL,    THE 

GRAND  VIZIER 


It  was  green  of  April,  it  was  morn 
In  Istamboul  on  the  Golden  Horn, 
Where  down  the  hill  and  the  crooked 

shore 

The  cypress  sorrows  evermore. 
The  white  Seraglio's  marble  piles 
Gleamed  ghostly  down  the  silver  miles. 
There  mosque  and  palace  and  grove  and 

fort 

Neighbor  in  many  a  glorious  court. 
Three  are  the  portals  that  shut  it  in, 
Hushed  and  afar  from  the  world's  great 

din; 

Nine  are  the  nightingale  gardens  there 
That  hang  all  night  in  a  moon-white  air; 
Fifty  the  fountains  of  silver  leap, 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Whose  sound  is  soft  as  the  listless  flow 
Of  streams  that  forever  linger  and  go 
Down  delicate,  dream-far  valleys  of  sleep. 
At  the  heart  of  it  all,  like  a  lily's  gold, 
Is  a  gorgeous  chamber,  I  have  been  told, 
Whose  walls  are  lighted  by  lattice  bars, 
Whose  roof  is  pricked  by  a  thousand  stars. 
This  is  the  room  that  the  great  Mahmoud 
Bolted  from  Grief  and  her  jangling  brood. 
Slant  to  the  walls  were  the  fifty  shields 
That  bragged  of  the  fifty  battlefields 
Where  his  flag  had  streamed  as  a  meteor 

red, 

And  his  name  hung  dark  as  a  thunder- 
head. 

Those  thirty  keys,  in  their  bloody  rust, 
Were  the  thirty  towns  he  had  turned  to 
dust. 

He  had  harvested  all  that  pleased  his  eye — 
All  but  the  moon  in  the  evening  sky. 
Lands  and  ladies  and  ships  and  herds, 
He  gathered  them  in  as  a  flock  of  birds; 
And  his  coffers  were  heaped  by  his  sword's 

renown 
Till  no  one  could  hammer  the  covers  down. 

IO 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Marbles  from  Delos,  stones  from  Thrace, 
He  plundered  to  build  him  a  pleasure- 
place. 

Pillars  from  Ephesus  propped  the  dome 
Of  the  gilded  mosque  and  the  hippodrome; 
Shafts  of  porphyry  Baalbec  gave 
To  build  the  porch  of  his  pampered  slave. 
Glory  and  pleasure,  splendor  and  power, 
He  gulped  them  all  in  his  golden  hour. 


II 

But  a  change  came  over  the  great  sultan, 
And  the  world  with  a  trembling  rumor  ran ; 
For  it  happed  in  the  leafy  youth  of  the 

year 

The  Seraglio  gloomed  with  a  sudden  fear. 
The  demon  of  doldrums,  without  salute, 
Had  slipped  by  eunuch  and  cat-eyed  mute, 
And    all    were    tiptoeing,    holding    their 

breath, 
For  the  sultan  lay  on  the  edge  of  death. 


Wearily  there  he  had  lain  for  hours 
On  his  cushion  soft  as  a  heap  of  flowers, 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Till   the   harem   ladies,    distraught,    dis 
tressed, 

Came  fluttering  out  of  their  fragrant  nest, 
Light  as  the  lily,  fleet  as  the  fawn, 
Caught  in  the  colors  that  tremble  at  dawn. 
Halima  laved  with  her  delicate  hand 
His  brow  with  the  attar  of  Samarkand; 
Barakah,  robed  in  an  ocean  green, 
Tinkled  the  bells  of  her  tambourine; 
The  slim  Circassian,  Malkhatoon, 
Danced  as  light  as  a  wave-caught  moon; 
A  (if  a  with  odorous  peacock  fan 
"Wafted  a  zephyr  to  his  divan. 
Zelica  sang  with  her  pomegranate  lips, 
Sweet  as  the  comb  when  the  honey  drips, 
And   her  bosom   shook  like  a  rose-tree 

stirred 
By  the  trembling  grief  of  a  singing  bird. 


Then  Jehun-Era,  the  Golden  Tongue 
(Her  heart  was  a  harp  by  the  houris  strung, 
Her  mind  was  a  hive  with  stories  packed), 
Told  him  of  cities  besieged  and  sacked — 
Told  him  tales  of  the  great  Haroun, 
Where  bulbuls  sing  to  a  dreaming  moon, 

12 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  lovers  and  ladies  forever  fair 

Are  caught  in  the  coil  of  a  sweet  despair. 

But  never  once,  so  the  books  aver, 
Did  a  finger  move  or  an  eyelid  stir 
Of  the  great  Mahmoud.  Then  the  cooks 

began 

To  bake  and  boil  for  the  sick  sultan. 
Yes,  the  nineteen  cooks  in  the  kitchen 

skurred, 

And  each  foot  flew  like  a  startled  bird, 
Till  the  slaves  came  up  in  quick  relays, 
With  bowls  and  platters  on  silver  trays. 
There  were  pastries  frail  as  the  melting 

mist, 

Rosette,  crescent,  and  caraway  twist; 
A  jelly  that  quaked  in  a  golden  jar; 
Grapes  from  the  valley  of  Kandahar; 
Coffee  that  smoked  in  an  Osman  bowl, 
Brew  for  body  and  beauty  for  soul; 
Sherbet  cooled  by  the  Tartary  snows, 
And  fragrant  now  as  the  Kashmir  rose; 
Almonds  sugared,  and  peaches  spiced; 
A  citron  candied,  an  orange  sliced; 
Rice  from  Cyprus,  and  figs  from  Pars; 
Melons  from  under  the  Syrian  stars; 

13 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

A  fish  from  the  Nile;  a  lamb  from  Thrace; 
And — a  larded  lark  that  I  cannot  trace. 


But  never  once,  so  the  gossips  say, 

Did  the  rose-sweet  bowl  or  the  smoking 

tray, 

Did  the  frosted  brew  or  the  spicy  food, 
Draw  a  single  glance  of  the  great  Mah- 

moud. 

So  Leylah,  with  delicate  touches,  packed 
The  long-stem  pipe  that  the  long  day 

lacked; 

And,  lighting  it,  drew  from  the  golden  leaf 
One  waft  of  the  white  smoke,  death-of- 

grief. 
But  he  scorned  the  pipe  with  a  withering 

eye 

As  he  heaved  a  deep  Vesuvian  sigh. 
Anyhow,  this  is  the  word  that  ran 
When  the  world's  eye  wept  for  the  sick 

sultan. 

Ill 

So  they  bore  him  now  to  the  Mosque,  hard 

put 
For  the  holy  rub  of  the  Dervish  foot; 

14 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

For  a  Dervish  toe,  well  warmed  in  the 

dance, 
Can  cure  more  ails  than  the  philters  of 

France. 

They  carried  him  next  to  the  praying- 
floor, 

To  touch  the  pillar  that  once  of  yore 
The  Prophet  jostled  from  ground  to  rafter, 
And  left  it  sweating  the  ages  after. 
And  then  they  tore  from  the  Koran's  page 
A  verse  approved  by  a  master  mage, 
Burned  it,  and  gave  him  the  ash  to  drink; 
But  still  he  hung  on  the  ghostly  brink. 


Now  the  barber  came  running  to  let  his 

blood, 
While  the  doctors  were  brewing  from  leaf 

and  bud, 

And  mixing  him  many  a  toothsome  grog, 
And  rubbing  with  camphor  and  cacagogue. 
Then  they  poked  their  heads  into  all  the 

books, 

Scanning  the  pages  with  learned  looks — 
Galen  and  Rhazes  and  Ibn  Zohr 
And  great  Avicen' — all  the  curious  lore 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Of  the  palsies  and  cankers,  the  phlegms 

and  chills, 
With  the  balms  and  catholicons  routing 

the  ills. 

But  the  aches  and  irks  are  a  tricksy  brood : 
Whatever  was  done,  they  would  still  elude, 
And  the  megrims  stuck  to  the  great 

Mahmoud. 


The  doctors  sighed,  for  I'm  told  by  three 
That  the  thirteen  doctors  did  agree — 
Agree  that  their  physic  was  no  avail 
For  the  great  sultan  with  the  stubborn  ail. 
Then  one  leech  said  (he  was  born  too  soon 
By  a  hundred  year  and  perhaps  a  moon) — 
One  leech  dared  hint  that  a  bright-swung 

ax 

Had  a  help  for  him  that  the  pill-bag  lacks. 
At  this  Mahmoud,  from  his  aching  bed, 
Cried:  "Off  with  the  leech  and  his  learned 

head! 

And  the  rest  of  you  fade  from  the  eyes  of  us, 
Over  the  miles  to  the  Caucasus! 
Out  of  our  realm  to  a  new  abode, 
And  let  it  be  by  the  shortest  road!" 

16 


THE   SHOES    OF  HAPPINESS 

And  this  is  why,  at  the  crack  of  dawn, 
The  twelve  great  doctors  got  them  gone, 
Glad  enough  that  their  heads  were  on. 
And  they  went  in  a  string,  with  their  books 

and  pills, 

Footing  it  fast  toward  the  frontier  hills, 
Nor  looked  once  back  to  the  Grand  Bazaar 
As  they  drank  the  miles  toward  the  morn 
ing  star. 


Now  emirs  and  agas,  effendis  and  sheiks, 
Stand  pulling  their  whiskers  with  rueful 

tweaks; 

The  dwarfs  have  lost  their  old  delight; 
The  Nubian  guards  are  statues  of  night; 
The  slaves  are  tremors,   the  ladies   are 

tears, 
For  the  black  camel  Death  on  the  rim 

appears. 

But  suddenly  in  from  the  harem  creeps 
The  sibylline  crone  who  never  sleeps. 
The  word    of   her   mouth   is   a   cryptic 

thing, 
For  she  wears  on  her  finger  King  Solomon's 

ring. 

17 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

She  raises  her  arms,  and  she  cries  aloud: 
"  I   lift  from  the  palace  the  darkening 

shroud. 

0  Mahmoud  the  Mighty,  may  Allah  exalt, 
And  send  only  friends  to  eat  your  salt! 
0  Mahmoud,  rummage  the  east  and  west 
For  the  shoes  of  a  mortal  wholly  blest; 
For  only  by  this  can  you  break  the  ban: 
You  must  wear  the  shoes  of  a  happy  man." 


Then  shouted  the  sultan,  "Ho,  Vizier, 
I  need  those  shoes:  let  the  shoes  be  here!" 
Then  his  voice  ran  low — so  a  beast  grows 

still 
As  he  stiffens  his  cords  for  the  leap  to 

kill- 

"Go  forth,  Vizier,  when  the  dawn  is  red, 
And  bring  me  the  shoes;  or  send  instead, 
By  the  hand  of  this  trusted  slave,  your 

head!" 


IV 

The  bulbuls  sang  in  the  camphor-tree, 
As  the  grand  vizier,  with  a  trusted  three, 

18 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Threaded  his  way  toward  the  noisy  mart 
To  find  a  man  with  a  happy  heart — 
A  man  that  a  sorrow  had  never  stung, 
A  man  that  a  memory  never  wrung. 
Long,  drowsily  long,  a  late  cock  crew 
As  the  Gate  of  Happiness  let  them  through. 
"Now,"  said  Halil  to  the  other  three, 
"  Keep  your  eyes  alert,  for  the  shoes  should 

be 
Well  peppered  with  pearls  for  a  sultan's 

eye; 
So  now  to  the  rich,  where  the  joy  runs 

high. 

On,  camels,  on  with  a  swifter  spring, 
Set  the  boughs  astir  and  the  bells  aswing; 
For  I  would  be  home  ere  the  shadows 

fall 
To  feed  my  doves  on  the  garden  wall." 


At  the  road's  first  turn  what  should  they 

see 

But  a  swarm  of  the  folk  of  high  degree, 
Rolling  away  at  the  crack  of  morn 
For    light-heart    hours    on    the    Golden 

Horn. 

19 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

One  by  one,  like  a  flower  afloat, 

The  arabas  rolled  toward  a  rainbow  boat. 

So  the  vizier  cried,  and  his  words  were 

brief, 

"How  many  are  here  with  never  a  grief?" 
Alas!  but  the  thorn  pricks  ever  the  rose, 
And  they  all  were  pricked  by  wants  and 

woes. 

In  each  glad  heart  was  a  wistful  cry; 
Behind  each  joy  was  a  secret  sigh. 
Now  he  turned  from  the  rich  and  their  hap 
less  store, 
And  journeyed  away  to  the  poor  man's 

door: 
"Ho,    Hassan,    ho!    you    have    children 

seven : 
Is  your  gate  not  joy,  is  your  hut  not 

heaven?" 

The  poor  man  answered:  "Ah,  Vizier, 
I  have  seven  sweet  joys,  but  I  have  one 

fear: 

The  dread  of  to-morrow  ever  is  here. 
When  my  hand  has  work,  then  the  mouths 

are  fed ; 
When  the  work-staff  breaks,  then  I  wish 

me  dead." 

20 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

So  they  jolted  on  down  the  greening  acres: 
There  were  strolling  fluters  and  travelling 

fakers; 
There  were  women  peering  from  lattice 

screens; 

Pickers  bent  in  the  blossoming  beans; 
Wood-cutters  bearing  their  shining  tools; 
Slaves  asleep  on  their  lazing  mules. 
To  all  one  question,  and  one  reply, 
For  each  heart  carried  its  secret  sigh. 
All,  all  had  grief  save  a  laughing  boy 
Too  glad  to  know  that  he  lived  in  joy. 
His  little  worn  shoes  they  danced  and  ran, 
But  they  were  too  small  for  the  sick  sultan. 

On  down  the  road,  by  a  sycamore  tree, 
A  poet  was  weaving  a  rosy  rhyme, 
A  song  to  sing  in  the  ear  of  Time, 
When  Mahmoud's  galleys  and  gates  shall 

be 
A  drifted  dust  by  the  silver  sea: 

"Many  the  winds  that  shake  the  rose, 
Many  the  reeds  where  the  river  goes, 
Many  the  waves  that  wrinkle  the  sea; 
But  only  one  love  for  me,  for  me! 

21 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

"A  thousand  fancies  may  visit  the  heart, 
A  thousand  shadows  of  time  depart, 
A  thousand  dreams  may  come  to  thee; 
But  only  one  love  for  me,  for  me!" 


Over  his  shoulder  the  vizier  peered. 

"  Tis  a  happy  song,   by  the  Prophet's 

beard ! 

Tell  me,  rhymer,  and  quick  with  the  word, 
Are  you  not  glad  as  a  mated  bird?" 
"No,"    sighed   the   poet;    "you    do   me 

wrong, 

For  sorrow  is  ever  the  nest  of  song. 
Out  of  the  grieving  the  poet  sings: 
The  rock  is  cleft,  and  the  bright  well 

springs." 

V 

So  the  vizier  cried:  "Go,  camels,  go, 
But  not  to  the  high  and  not  to  the  low." 
Through  the  Grand  Bazaar  he  pushed  his 

way, 

As  a  galley  shears  through  the  silver  spray. 
There  were  rosy  veils  for  the  waiting  bride, 
Whips  of  the  hippopotamus  hide, 


22 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Necklets  of  ruby,  girdles  of  jade, 
Anklets  of  silver  with  pearls  inlaid, 
Silks  and  sandalwood,  feathers  and  furs, 
Henna  and  cinnamon,  nards  and  myrrhs — 
These  and  a  thousand  were  his  to  choose, 
But  none  could  give  him  the  happy  shoes. 


It  was  azan  hour  as  they  neared  the 
Mosque; 

Muezzins  were  loud  on  the  high  kolosk. 

Idlers  and  toilers  from  everywhere 

Were  stretched,  face  down,  for  the  even 
ing  prayer. 

Over  them  floated,  spacious  and  high, 

The  airy  dome,  like  another  sky; 

And  a  silver  cresset  was  swinging  there 

Soft  as  a  moon  in  a  misty  air. 

Thick  as  the  reeds  where  the  herons 
drink, 

Were  the  people  that  crowded  the  plashy 
brink 

Of  the  fountain  spilling  its  silver  sound 

And  wafting  the  cool  of  it  over  the  ground. 

Packers  were  filling  their  water-skins ; 

Venders  were  chafing  the  day  with  dins; 

23 


THE    SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Porters  were  easing  their  sweaty  backs, 
Their  bodies  crooked  with  the  wrenches 

and  racks; 
Beggars  were  crying,  with  rattling  dish, 

"Bismillah!"  to  all  and  a  thrifty  wish. 

-y 

In  through  the  clamors  the  grand  vizier 
Went  crying  his  question  to  every  ear; 
But  each  had  his  sorrow,  his  folly,  his 

fear. 
There  was  ever  the  shrug  and  ever  the 

nay: 
The  young  were  restless  that  youth  should 

stay, 
The  old  were  sad  that  it  went  away. 

A  scrivener,  scratching  with  busy  reed, 
Was  writing  a  song  for  a  lover's  need; 
And  the  words  that  over  the  vellum  ran 
Were  sweet  as  the  roses  of  Luristan. 
"Ah,"  smiled  Halil,  "here  are  youth  and 

love: 

There  is  nothing  more  in  the  stars  above. 
Here  are  song  and  dream :  what  more  can  bs 
In  the  palaces  under  the  sounding  sea? 

24 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Ho,  lover !     Look  from  your  sweet  employ : 
Is  there  any  grief  in  your  house  of  joy?" 
"Yes,  yes;  for  love  is  a  tower  of  fears, 
A  joy  half  torment,  a  heaven  half  tears. 
I  mind  me  now  how  her  bosom  shook 
That  day  dog  Abdul  stopped  to  look. 
Her  veil  had  dropped  for  his  peering  eye, 
Yet  never  a  wind  had  blown  it  by." 


VI 

So  the  seekers  pushed  to  the  noisy  Khan, 
Where  Jaffer,  the  teller  of  tales,  began 
For  the  fortieth  time,  as  he  waved  his 

sleeves, 

The  hazardous  tale  of  the  Forty  Thieves. 
The  long-stem  pipe  and  the  steaming  cup 
Were  sending  a  hundred  vapors  up; 
Yet  quick  with  his  word  Halil  began, 
And  over  the  tavern  his  question  ran. 


But  Hassan,  the  merchant,  opened  his  lips 

Only  to  sigh  for  his  sunken  ships; 

Ali,  the  driver,  was  quick  to  speak 

Of  his  bride  that  fled  with  a  hated  Greek; 

25 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Yusuf  moped,  and  his  words  were  few, 
As  he  told  of  the  debt  on  the  morrow  due; 
Al  Mansur  sighed  for  his  lost  career, 
For  once  he  had  visions  of  being  vizier. 
Soldiers  back  from  the  battle  sang, 
Rollicked  and  roared  till  the  tavern  rang; 
But,  ah,  at  a  thought  their  eyes  would 

fill 

For  comrades  left  on  the  battle-hill. 
And  sailors  home  from  an  ocean  run 
Laughed  and  lurched,  but  never  a  one 
From  the  frozen  fiord  to  the  palmy  reef 
Had  heard  of  a  mortal  without  a  grief. 


Then  Selim,  the  student,  looked  up  to 

speak: 

6 'Vizier,  I  know  him,  the  sage  you  seek. 
He  is  here,  just  come  with  the  caravan 
Homing  from  Mecca,  a  happy  man. 
Honors  and  riches  are  his  by  right, 
And  he  faces  the  world  with  a  look  of 

light." 
But  the  pilgrim  answered  with  star-still 

eyes: 

"I  am  not  glad;  I  am  only  wise. 

26 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

You  seek  for  the  happy?    The  quest  is 

mad, 

For  all  things  crumble  and  all  is  sad." 
Then  a  voice  rang  clear  from  a  noisy  rout 
Where  the  cups  were  letting  the  laughters 

out: 

"Not  so;  for  I  know  of  a  happy  man, 
But  he  is  afar  in  Ispahan." 


So  the  four  went  rocking  on  camel  hoof, 
And  halted  at  last  by  the  happy  roof. 
The  vizier  spoke,  and  his  words  were  brief : 
"Are  you  a  mortal  with  never  a  grief?" 
The  stranger  saluted  and  made  reply: 
"Not  I,  by  the  holy  beard!  for  I 
Am  bent  by  a  sorrow  that  ever  has  been 
Since  they  carried  my  son  to  the  low  green 

inn. 

Yet  they  tell  of  a  man  who  is  ever  glad, 
But  he  is  afar  in  old  Bagdad." 


Now   they  flew   light-foot   on   the  new 
found  track, 
To  the  man  in  the  city  of  wonder.   Alack! 

27 


THE   SHOES    OF   HAPPINESS 

He  also  carried  a  sorrow-pack. 
Yet  he  told  of  a  rumor  from  far  Algiers 
Of  a  man  who  never  had  tasted  tears. 
So  off  they  went  rocking  by  desert  wells, 
Cheered  on  by  the  sound  of  the  camel- 
bells, 
Till  out  on  the  road  where  the  hot  hours 

ran 

They  were  told  by  the  chief  of  a  caravan 
That  the  man  was  dead — the  one  glad 
man! 

VII 

Now  all  went  black  for  the  grand  vizier, 
And  he  turned  toward  home  with  a  trick 
ling  tear. 

But  as  he  came,  with  his  grim  regrets, 
To  the  home  sky  speared  by  the  minarets, 
And  as,  one  by  one,  on  the  purple  rim 
The  domes  of  the  city  began  to  swim, 
Hark!  suddenly  over  the  hush  of  morn 
Came  a  fluting  note  from  a  field  of  corn, 
Where  a  man,  stretched  out  with  his  arm 

for  pillow, 

Blew  thin,  sweet  sounds  from  a  pipe  of 
willow. 

28 


THE    SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

The  laughter-lines  had  scribbled  his  face, 
And  his  limbs  lay  long  with  a  flowing 
grace. 


"Ho,"  cried  Halil,  "I  am  seeking  one 
Whose  days  are  all  in  a  brightness  run.' 
"Then  I  am  he,  for  I  have  no  lands, 
Nor  have  any  gold  to  crook  my  hands. 
Favor  nor  fortune  nor  fame  have  I, 
And  I  only  ask  for  a  road  and  a  sky — 
These,  and  a  pipe  of  the  willow-tree 
To  whisper  the  music  out  of  me." 


Out  into  the  field  the  vizier  ran. 
"Allah-il-Allah!  but  you  are  the  man; 
Your  shoes,   then,   quick,   for  the  great 

sultan — 
Quick,    and    all    fortunes    are    yours    to 

choose!" 

"Yes,  mighty  Vizier     .     .    .    but  I  have 
no  shoes." 


THE  JUGGLER  OF  TOURAINE 


Once  in  the  time  of  Louis  the  King 
Happened  a  smiling  and  holy  thing. 
'Twas  all  in  the  outdoor  days  of  old, 
Days  that  fancy  has  warmed  with  gold, 
Days  that  are  gone  with  the  leaves,  alas! 
When  the  light-legged  juggler  Barnabas 
From  city  to  wondering  city  went, 
Sprinkling  the  world  with  his  merriment. 


He  would  startle  the  Square  on  festival- 
days, 

When  all  the  town  was  a  sudden  blaze, 
A  clamor  of  tongues,  and  a  clack  of  feet, 
A  flurry  of  thousands  filling  the  street — 
Princes  with  plumes  and  gartered  knees; 
Sailors  back  from  the  Indian  seas; 
Mayors  and  marshals  viewing  the  town, 
Horsed,  and  robed  in  the  violet  gown; 

30 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Thieves  alert  for  the  thoughtless  purse, 
And  ever  free  with  the  easy  curse; 
Shepherds  leading  their  April  flocks; 
Damsels  driving  their  turkey-cocks; 
Beggars  droning  their  practised  whine; 
Troopers  red  from  the  tavern  wine; 
Ladies  in  feathers  and  flaring  hoops; 
Monks  with  relics  and  pious  stoops; 
Bullies  with  long  mustachio  twirls 
Teasing  the  fops  with  the  scented  curls; 
Quacks  with  doses  for  all  the  ills- 
Coughs  and  colics,  and  gripes  and  chills; 
Brigands  home  from  their  sorry  trade, 
And  marked  to  dance  with  the  hempen 

maid; 

Hucksters  bragging  across  the  din; 
Gaffers  agaze  with  shaking  chin; 
Gamesters,  too,  with  the  shifty  eye 
And  the  conical  hat  an  arm's-length  high, 
Clackering  loud  their  lottery  dice, 
Shouting  the  winning  numbers  thrice, 
Giving  to  all  their  wild  advice. 


In  through  it  all,  like  a  straddling  ape, 
The  juggler  strode,  with  the  town  agape; 

31 


THE    SHOES    OF   HAPPINESS 

A  punchinello  on  tipsy  stilts, 
Wading  his  way  with  leaps  and  lilts. 
A  peaked  hat  on  his  bobbing  head 
Was  half  of  yellow  and  half  of  red. 
On  his  powdered  face  was  the  unicorn, 
One  cheek  for  the  tail  and  one  for  the 

horn. 

His  gown,  puffed  out  over  belly  and  back, 
Was  sprinkled  with  signs  of  the  Zodiac. 
His  sleeves,  blown  up  like  young  balloons, 
Were  floating  skies  stuck  full  of  moons. 
And  his  quips  and  cranks  seemed  never 

to  fail 
To  draw  the  crowd  like  a  comet's  tail! 


Why,  even  duennas  on  way  to  Mass 
Would  follow  the  train  with  their  maids, 

alas! 

And  the  First  Epistle  be  reached  and  read, 
While  they  were  held  by  a  feather-head! 
For  he  stretched  a  carpet  along  the  grass, 
Where  the  murmurs  mix  and  the  laughters 

pass; 

And  ripping  the  skies  from  arms  and  back, 
He  stood  trim-trig  as  a  tumbling  jack. 

32 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Like  a  blowing  bough  was  his  whimsy 

grace; 
Like  a  rising  moon  was  his  fresh  young 

face. 


Now  he  poised  on  hands  on  a  rolling 
sphere, 

And  cracked  his  heels  at  the  Marshal's 
ear. 

Now  he  scattered  nine  balls  to  the  morn 
ing  air, 

And  kept  them  a-shine  and  a-weaving 
there; 

For  they  flew  to  their  places,  one  by  one, 

As  planets  tethered  about  the  sun. 

With  toes  to  head,  in  a  spangling  round, 

He  ran  as  a  light  wheel  over  the  ground. 

He  swallowed  the  Notary's  signet-ring, 

And  down  in  your  pocket  you  found  the 
thing! 

On,  on  he  went  till  the  crowd  was  full 

Of  tarradiddle  and  cock-and-bull; 

And  a  shower  of  coins  on  the  carpet 
fell, 

Like  a  rain  of  leaves  on  an  autumn  well. 

33 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 
II 

Oh,  blithe  is  the  trade  of  Pantaloon, 
Light  as  the  flight  of  an  April  moon; 
Blithe  are  the  travels  of  Harlequin, 
Till  the  leaves  turn  red  and  the  frosts  be 
gin. 

And  light  went  the  days  of  Barnabas — 
Light  as  the  dews  on  a  blade  of  grass, 
Till  the  first  faint  frost  at  Michaelmas. 
He  and  the  cricket  went  chirruping  by 
Till  the  delicate  snows  began  to  fly. 
Then  all  things  crept  to  a  snug  abode — 
Squirrel  and  lizard  and  lumbering  toad — 
And  he  and  the  wind  were  alone  on  the 

road. 
For  his  purse  was  lean,  his  friends  were 

few, 

And  the  lodge  for  the  night  he  never  knew. 
But  however  the  hours  ran  dark  with  ill, 
He  only  smiled  on  the  old  world  still: 
Wide  was  his  love  as  the  sun's  good  will. 


And  he  kept  him  clear  of  the  deadly  sins, 
Nor  bragged  and  brawled  in  the  noisy  inns, 

34 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Where  unfrocked  abbes  and  tipsy  churls 
Made  light-hour  love  to  the  loveless  girls. 
Through  all  the  ways  that  went  so  wild, 
He  kept  the  heart  of  a  little  child. 
And  he  never  failed  at  a  wayside  shrine 
With  the  bended  knee  and  the  holy  sign, 
And  a  candle,  tipt  with  a  tender  flame, 
Lighted  in  praise  of  Our  Lady's  name. 
And  he  never  failed  of  his  parting  prayer: 
"Mother  of  Jesus,  Queen  of  the  skies, 
Shine  on  the  ways  my  feet  may  fare; 
And  when  God  pleases  to  shut  my  eyes, 
Take  me  home  to  your  paradise!" 


One  eve,  on  the  edge  of  a  lonely  town, 
As  the  clouds  drove  by  and  the  rain  shot 

down, 
Poor  Barnabas,  hugging  his  knives  and 

balls, 

And  seeking  a  bed  in  the  cattle  stalls, 
Fell  in  with   a  friar  from  the  cloistral 

halls— 

A  cheery  friar,  with  a  wind  of  words 
And  a  head  crooked  out  like  a  long-necked 

bird's. 

35 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

"How  is  it,  son,"  said  the  beaming  friar, 
"That  a  grasshopper  green  is  your  winter 

tire? 
Are  you  trigged  for  the  clown  in  a  mystery 

play? 
Are  you  out  as  a  droll  till  the  break  o' 

day?" 
"Father,"  said  Barnabas,  "this  that  you 

see, 

This  is  the  kill-care  Barnabas,  he 
Who  has  lighted  with  laughter  a  hundred 

towns, 
Driving    before    him    the    phlegms    and 

frowns — 

Lord  of  the  revels;  but  now,  ah,  now, 
Blown  in  the  wind  as  a  leafless  bough. 
Oh,  the  juggler's  trade  would  the  sweetest  be 
OF  all  in  the  world,  if  bread  were  free!" 


"Beware,"  said  the  friar,  "beware,  my  son: 
The  cloistral  trade  is  the  sweetest  one. 
For  the  friars  keep  orison  day  and  night, 
And  join  the  song  of  the  souls  in  light, 
And  the  Seven  Throne  Angels  burning 
white."— 

36 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

" Father,  my  tongue  ran  loose  and  long: 
Your  trade  is  the  sweetest:  I  did  God 

wrong. 

It  is  much  to  dance  with  a  feather  thin 
Or  a  crooked  sword  on  the  upturned  chin, 
And  to  get  the  laugh  and  the  rat-tat-tat, 
When  I  pull  the  hen  out  of  Gaston's  hat. 
But  little  are  these  to  the  cloistral  ways, 
Where  long  hours  go  to  Our  Lady's  praise; 
Where  the  pale  friars  pass  with  feet  unshod, 
And  the  bread  is  changed  to  the  body  of 

God. 
Oh,  would  that  I  might  the  great  hours 

know, 
Where  the  Sanctus  sounds  and  the  gray 

monks  go, 
And  the  candles  burn  in  a  saintly  row!" 


So  simply  told  was  the  wistful  tale 
That  the  word  of  the  juggler  had  avail. 
"Come,"  said  the  friar,  "to  the  cloistral 

rest; 

For  the  God  who  gives  to  the  bird  a  nest, 
And   guides   the   worm   on   its   lampless 

quest, 

37 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Has  sent  me  out  on  the  edge  of  night 
To  lead  your  soul  to  the  place  of  light." 
Sweet  as  the  sound  of  a  sudden  stream 
That  cools  the  heat  of  a  traveller's  dream, 
So  sweet  was  the  sound  of  the  friendly 

word 

The  weary  heart  of  the  juggler  heard. 
That  night  he  entered  the  convent  door, 
That  night  he  slept  on  the  frater's  floor. 
He  had  found  a  home  for  his  heart  at  last, 
And  the  piteous  chance  of  the  road  was 

past. 

Ill 

Lightly  and  still  went  the  busy  days 
Where   each   one   toiled   in   Our   Lady's 

praise. 

The  Almoner  lauded  in  lovely  words 
That  went  to  the  heart  like  a  flight  of 

birds : 

She  was  the  Lily,  the  Tower  of  Gold, 
Gate  of  Ivory,  Roof  of  the  Fold, 
The  Rock  of  Vision,  the  Well  that  Flows, 
The  Star  of  the  Sea,  the  Mystic  Rose. 
And  ever  the  good  Friar  Estevan, 
A  little  mysterious  thread  of  a  man, 

38 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Lauded  her  grace  in  Virgilian  verse, 
In  numbers  majestical,  tender,  and  terse. 
Friar  Glorian  copied  the  stately  chants 
With  all  of  his  scholarly  curves  and  slants, 
Prinking  the  pages  in  rainbow  dyes, 
Strewing  them  over  with  butterflies, 
Winding  the  border  with  loop  and  lock 
Of  the  fleur-de-lis  and  the  hollyhock. — 
Bonaccord,  Basil,  and  Theophile 
Praised  her  in  music,  as  others  kneel; 
Blowing  silver  and  touching  string, 
Till   hearts  were   struck  by  the  mystic 

wing. 

Bonaccord's  love  in  the  'cello  sang; 
Theophile's  praise  in  the  hautboy  rang 
Or  tenderly  cried  in  the  violin. 
Basil,  puffing  his  horn,  came  in, 
Bladdering  wide  his  jovial  cheeks, 
Till  his  eyes  went  out  into  little  streaks. 
Friar  Julian  painted  Madonnas — one 
The  throne  of  the  great  King  Solomon, 
With  lions  at  corners,  awake,  aware, 
And  Our  Lady  bowed  in  her  beauty  there. 
Two  souls  at  her  feet  cried  not  in  vain 
For  the  grace  that  whitens  the  mortal 

stain. 

39 


THE   SHOES    OF   HAPPINESS 

Around  her  head,  in  a  haloed  light, 
Were  seven  doves  whirled  in  a  silver  flight, 
The  seven  great  gifts  of  the  Holy  Breath — 
Devotion  that  saveth  the  soul  from  death, 
Strength  that  steadies  us,  Awe  that  stills, 
Science  that  measures  the  seas  and  hills, 
Wisdom,  Intelligence,  Good  Advice 
That  balks  the  throw  of  the  devil's  dice. — 
And  ever  the  stout  Friar  Palemone 
Chiseled  and  hammered  the  patient  stone, 
Carving  her  beauty  the  whole  day  long, 
Edging  the  time  with  a  quiet  song. 
Like  bearded  rye  were  his  bristling  brows, 
And  white  with  the  dust,  as  bended  boughs 
Are  white  with  the  sift  of  the  early  snow 
When  dead  leaves  stir  and  begin  to  go. 


But  to  laud  in  marble,  to  praise  in  brass, 
To  honor  in  color,  poor  Barnabas, 
Nothing  of  these  could  he  do,  alas! 
As  leaves  on  a  desert  his  learning  was  scant : 
He  knew  neither  litany,  credo,  nor  chant; 
Nor  Pater,  nor  Ave — not  even  a  prayer, 
Like  a  sheep  of  the  field,  like  a  hawk  of 
the  air. 

4o 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

One  day,  when  his  heart  was  nigh  to  fail, 
The  Prior  to  comfort  him  told  a  tale — 
Told  of  a  friar  from  a  southern  isle, 
His  face  all  lit  with  a  heavenly  smile, 
So  lean  in  learning  he  could  recite 
Only  an  ave — and  that  half  right! 
Yet  beautiful  tremblings  went  over  his 

soul, 

As  stars  go  over  a  hidden  shoal. 
He  died,  and  out  of  his  bosom  sprang 
Four  doves  that  flew  to  a  wood  and  sang. 
The  four  white  doves  that  so  lightly  came 
Were  the  four  white  letters  of  Mary's 

name! 

But  the  Prior's  story  was  little  relief 

To  Barnabas,  bearing  his  daily  grief. 

So  morning  by  morning  the  young  friar 

slipped 

Through  doors  and  halls  to  a  secret  crypt, 
And  kneeling  low  at  the  altar  cried: 
"0  Madam  and  Mother,  0  Virgin  Bride, 
Here  am  I  only  a  tethered  ox, 
Eating  the  grass  of  the  useful  flocks! 
The  choir  can  sing,  and  the  deacons  read 
The  Gospel  to  scatter  the  living  seed. 

41 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Others  can  praise  where  the  censers  swing, 
And   the   white   smoke  circles,    ring   on 

ring. 
And  the  learned  can  laud  you  with  art 

and  craft, 

In  the  Latin  chant  and  the  marble  shaft. 
But  I,  poor  Barnabas,  nothing  can  I, 
But  drone  in  the  sun  as  a  drowsy  fly." 

IV 

So  the  days  crept  on  till  a  white  dawn  came 
When  a  thought  flashed  over  his  soul  like 

flame; 
And  he  leaped  from  his  cell  all  legs  and 

arms, 

Filling  the  cloister  with  looks  and  alarms, 
As  he  shot  his  way  to  the  chapel  dim, 
Running  for  joy  in  the  heart  of  him. 
And  when  he  came  out  of  the  hidden 

place, 

A  light  as  of  stars  was  over  his  face. 
Now  day  after  day  to  the  secret  crypt, 
He  sped  light-foot  as  the  old  earth  dipped 
Softly  and  still  in  the  fire  of  dawn; 
For  the  restless  pain  of  his  heart  was  gone. 

42 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

The  friars  were  a-flutter  that  this  should 

be, 

Till  at  last  the  Prior  with  two  or  three — 
Elders  and  fraters  of  high  degree — 
Followed  the  juggler  on  tipping  toe, 
Their  breath  held  mightily,  hoping  to  know. 
And  they  heard  him  cry  at  Our  Lady's 

shrine : 

"All  that  I  am,  Madam,  all  is  thine! 
Again  I  am  come  with  spangle  and  ball 
To  lay  at  your  altar  my  little,  my  all. 
The  friars  know  all  of  the  saints— what 

they  do; 

But  of  all  up  in  Heaven,  I  know  only  you ! 
Of  holy  St.  Francis  a  little  I've  heard, 
But  not  of  St.  Plato  or  Peter  a  word. 
I  know  not  Quintilian — nothing  he  said 
Of  the  Three  and  the  One,  and  the  Wine 

and  the  Bread. 

Ah,  nothing  know  I  of  the  holy  books, 
And  nothing  of  paints  to  put  beautiful 

looks 
Of  your  eyes  on  the  wall,  nor  the  blowing 

of  brass 
To  make  sound  of  my  love— ^h,  nothing, 

alas! 

43 


THE    SHOES    OF   HAPPINESS 

But  the  trade  of  the  wandering  Barnabas. 
Yet,  Lady  and  Queen,  if  my  heart  would 

live, 
I  must  give  the  gift  that  I  have  to  give." 


And  then  the  eyes  of  the  elders  shone, 
As  they  peered  from  the  shade  of  a  pil 
lared  stone; 

For  laying  his  friar's  robe  tenderly  by, 
He  flickers  as  light  as  a  dragon-fly; 
Then  whirls  into  many  a  whimsical  shape, 
As  once  he  had  whirled  with  the  crowd 

agape. 
And  softly  he  cries  as  his  breath  comes 

quick : 
"Look  down,  for,  0  Madam,  this  is  the 

trick 

I  did  at  Toulon,  when  I  took  the  eye 
Of    the    King    himself    as    he    galloped 

by.     ... 
This  trick  drew  a  duchess  at  Chateaur- 

oux.     .     .     . 

But  this  is  the  one  I  have  made  for  you!" 
So  flinging  his  feet  in  the  air,  he  stands, 
Or  goes  and  comes  on  his  nimble  hands, 

44 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Or  tosses  the  balls  up  to  twinkle  and  run 
Like  planets  that  circle  about  a  sun. 
"Lady,"  he  cries  again,  "look,  I  entreat: 
I  worship  with  fingers  and  body  and  feet!" 


At  this  all  the  elders  mutter  and  chide: 
"Nothing  like  this  do  the  rules  provide! 
This  is  a  scandal,  this  is  a  shame, 
This  madcap  prank  in  Our  Lady's  name. 
Out  of  the  doors  with  him;  back  to  the 

street : 
He  has  no  place  at  Our  Lady's  feet!" 


But  why  do  the  elders  suddenly  quake, 
.-Their  eyes  a-stare  and  their  knees  a-shake? 
Down  from  the  rafters  arching  high, 
Her  blowing  mantle  blue  with  the  sky — 
Lightly  down  from  the  dark  descends 
The  Lady  of  Beauty,  and  lightly  bends 
Over    Barnabas    stretched    in    the    altar 

place, 

And  wipes  the  dew  from  his  shining  face; 
Then  touching  his  hair  with  a  look  of  light, 
Passes  again  from  the  mortal  sight. 

45 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

An  odor  of  lilies  hallows  the  air, 
And   sounds   as   of   harpings   are   every 
where. 


"Ah,"  cry  the  elders,  beating  the  breast, 

"So  the  lowly  deed  is  a  lofty  test! 

And  whatever  is  done  from  the  heart  to 

Him 
Is  done  from  the  height  of  the  Seraphim!" 


HOW  OSWALD  DINED  WITH  GOD 

Over  Northumbria's  lone,  gray  lands, 

Over  the  frozen  marl, 
Went  flying  the  fogs  from  the  fens  and 
sands, 

And  the  wind  with  a  wolfish  snarl. 

Frosty  and  stiff  by  the  gray  York  wall 
Stood  the  rusty  grass  and  the  yarrow: 

Gone  wings  and  songs  to  the  southland, 

all- 
Robin  and  starling  and  sparrow. 

Weary  with  weaving  the  battle-woof, 
Came  the  king  and  his  thanes  to  the 
Hall: 

Feast-fires  reddened  the  beams  of  the  roof, 
Torch  flames  waved  from  the  wall. 

Oswald,  "the  most  Christian  King  of  the  Northumbrians,"  was 
born  about  604,  A.  D.,  shortly  after  the  time  of  King  Arthur.  The 
moral  power  that  reached  its  height  in  King  Alfred  had  its  first  dawn 
in  the  character  of  Oswald. 

47 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Bright  was  the  gold  that  the  table  bore, 
Where  platters  and  beakers  shone: 

Whining  hounds  on  the  sanded  floor 
Looked  hungrily  up  for  a  bone. 


Laughing,  the  king  took  his  seat  at  the 
board, 

With  his  gold-haired  queen  at  his  right: 
War-men  sitting  around  them  roared 

Like  a  crash  of  the  shields  in  fight. 


Loud  rose  laughter  and  lusty  cheer, 

And  gleemen  sang  loud  in  their  throats, 

Telling  of  swords  and  the  whistling  spear, 
Till  their  red  beards  shook  with  the 
notes. 


Varlets  were  bringing  the  smoking  boar, 

Ladies  were  pouring  the  ale, 
When  the  watchman  called  from  the  great 
hall  door: 

66  0  King,  on  the  wind  is  a  wail. 


THE    SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

"Feebly  the  host  of  the  hungry  poor 
Lift  hands  at  the  gate  with  a  cry: 

Grizzled  and  gaunt  they  come  over  the 

moor, 
Blasted  by  Earth  and  sky." 


"Ho!"    cried    the    king   to    the    thanes, 
"make  speed — 

Carry  this  food  to  the  gates — 
Off  with  the  boar  and  the  cask  of  mead — 

Leave  but  a  loaf  on  the  plates." 


Still  came  a  cry  from  the  hollow  night: 
"King,  this  is  one  day's  feast; 

But  days  are  coming  with  famine-blight; 
Wolf  winds  howl  from  the  east!" 


Hot  from  the  king's  heart  leaped  a  deed, 

High  as  his  iron  crown: 
(Noble  souls  have  a  deathless  need 

To  stoop  to  the  lowest  down.) 

49 


THE    SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

"Thanes,  I  swear  by  Godde's  Bride 
This  is  a  cursed  thing — 

Hunger  for  the  folk  outside, 
Gold  inside  for  the  king!" 


Whirling  his  war-ax  over  his  head, 
He  cleft  each  plate  into  four. 

"Gather  them  up,  0  thanes,"  he  said, 
"For  the  workfolk  at  the  door. 


"Give  them  this  for  the  morrow's  meat, 
Then  shall  we  feast  in  accord: 

Our  half  of  a  loaf  will  then  be  sweet — 
Sweet  as  the  bread  of  the  Lord!" 


THE  CUP  OF  PRIDE 

I 

Young  Celestinus,  prince  of  Rome, 
Driven  by  the  Spirit,  left  his  home — 
Left  lordly  palaces  and  lands 
To  find  a  cavern  in  the  sands. 


For  he  had  turned  in  terror  when 
Savonarola,  crying  to  men 
Out  of  Love's  burning  anger,  hurled 
His  judgment  thunders  on  the  world. 
Then  fell  the  house  of  pride  for  him; 
Then  shined  the  path  of  Seraphim. 


His  shirt  of  hair,  his  holy  book, 
And  one  tall  cup  were  all  he  took — 
One  carven  cup  whose  lettering  told 
Of  his  princely  race  and  their  deeds  of  old. 
So  out  by  Elim's  seven  tall  palms, 

51 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

With  sounds  of  penitential  psalms, 
And  aching  knees  and  fastings  long, 
He  strove  to  purge  away  the  wrong 
His  deeds  had  heaped  in  those  wild  years 
When  he  had  sown  the  seed  of  tears. 


II 

But  not  alone  with  prayer  and  praise 
Did  Celestinus  build  his  days. 
He  led  afar  a  little  stream 
To  glass  the  bough  and  the  starry  beam. 
He  scooped  each  day  the  sandy  hole 
That  held  well-water  as  a  bowl, 
To  gladden  conies  in  their  play 
And  hearten  camels  on  the  way. 
He  made  the  stream  that  was  so  lean 
A  winding  path  of  trembling  green, 
Where  vine-leaves  lifted  and  white  pease, 
And  barley  for  the  wind  to  tease. 


There  at  his  lonely  cavern  door, 
There  on  his  hard  but  friendly  floor, 
Worn  travellers  stopt  on  the  way  to  eat 
Of  dates  and  honey  and  wild  goat's  meat, 

52 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Here  camel-men  and  pilgrim  band 
Found  comfort  in  a  weary  land, 
As  Celestinus  gave  them  ease 
And  washed  their  feet  upon  his  knees. 
But  he  always  brought  with  a  secret  pride 
The  carven  cup  from  its  niche  inside, 
Thinking  the  guests  might  his  story  trace 
And  learn  that  he  came  of  a  lordly  race; 
And  say,  as  they  saw  his  feet  unshod, 
"How  much  he  has  given  up  for  God!" 

Ill 

And  yet  in  his  prayers  the  hermit  cried, 
"Lord,  have  I  purged  away  my  pride? 
Am  I  little  and  humble  in  Thy  sight, 
And  moving  hourly  toward  the  light?" 
And  God  was  listening  to  this,  and  glad; 
Till  at  the  end  of  a  happy  year, 
He  turned  to  the  angel  Arabad: 
"Go,  for  this  child  is  very  dear — 
Go  to  the  sands  this  soul  to  save." 
So  came  one  night  to  the  hermit's  cave 
A  pilgrim  with  starry  eyes  and  grave. 

Quickly  the  hermit  smoothed  a  seat; 
Spread  for  the  angel  bread  and  meat, 

53 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Pouring  the  goat's  milk  foaming  and  cold 

Into  the  cherished  cup  of  gold, 

The  goblet  carven  with  curious  grace 

To  tell  the  glories  of  his  race — 

Their  births,  their  deaths,  their  princely 

reigns, 
Their  daring  deeds,  their  splendid  pains. 


Softly  they  talked  with  bite  and  sup, 
Yet  spoke  no  word  of  the  boastful  cup. 
But  lo,  in  the  hush  of  the  desert  night, 
When  sleep  on  Celestinus  fell, 
There  shined  round  the  pilgrim  a  mystic 

light; 

And  he  rose  and  took  from  the  hermit's  cell 
The  lordly  goblet  loved  too  well, 
And  bore  it  away  in  his  camel-pack 
And  faded  to  air  on  the  desert  track. 


But  he  sent  on  the  hermit's  soul  a 

dream 

That  threaded  the  dark  like  a  starry  beam 
Bringing  these  words  from  the  world's 

extreme: 

54 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

"Your  goblet,  brother,  I  must  destroy, 
As  we  take  from  a  child  a  perilous  toy. 
Let  go  of  the  past,  both  deed  and  date: 
Only  your  own  act  molds  your  fate- 
Only  the  man  you  are  to-day 
Counts  when  the  judgment  angels  weigh! 


ss 


HOW  THE  GREAT  GUEST  CAME 

I 

Before  the  Cathedral  in  grandeur  rose, 
At  Ingelburg  where  the  Danube  goes; 
Before  its  forest  of  silver  spires 
Went  airily  up  to  the  clouds  and  fires; 
Before  the  oak  had  ready  a  beam, 
While  yet  the  arch  was  stone  and  dream — 
Ther^  where  the  altar  was  later  laid, 
Conrad  the  cobbler  plied  his  trade. 

II 

Doubled  all  day  on  his  busy  bench, 
Hard  at  his  cobbling  for  master  and  heiVch, 
He  pounded  away  at  a  brisk  rat-tat, 
Shearing  and  shaping  with  pull  and  pat, 
Hide  well  hammered  and  pegs  sent  home, 
Till  the  shoe  was  fit  for  the  Prince  of  Rome. 
And  he  sang  as  the  threads  went  to  and 
fro: 

56 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

"Whether  'tis  hidden  or  whether  it  show, 
Let  the  work  be  sound,  for  the  Lord  will 
know." 

Ill 

Tall  was  the  cobbler,  and  gray  and  thin, 
And  a  full  moon  shone  where  the  hair  had 

been. 

His  eyes  peered  out,  intent  and  afar, 
As  looking  beyond  the  things  that  are. 
He  walked  as  one  who  is  done  with  fear, 
Knowing  at  last  that  God  is  near. 
Only  the  half  of  him  cobbled  the  shoes: 
The  rest  was  away  for  the  heavenly  news. 
Indeed,  so  thin  was  the  mystic  screen 
That  parted  the  Unseen  from  the  Seen, 
You   could  not  tell,   from  the  cobbler's 

theme 
If  his  dream  were  truth  or  his  truth  were 

dream. 

IV 

It  happened  one  day  at  the  year's  white 

end, 
Two  neighbors  called  on  their  old-time 

friend; 

S7 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

And  they  found  the  shop,  so  meagre  and 

mean, 
Made   gay   with   a   hundred   boughs   of 

green. 

Conrad  was  stitching  with  face  ashine, 
But  suddenly  stopped  as  he  twitched  a 

twine: 

"Old  friends,  good  news!    At  dawn  to 
day, 

As  the  cocks  were  scaring  the  night  away, 
The  Lord  appeared  in  a  dream  to  me, 
And  said,  'I  am  coming  your  Guest  to  be!' 
So  I've  been  busy  with  feet  astir, 
Strewing  the  floor  with  branches  of  fir. 
The  wall  is  washed  and  the  shelf  is  shined, 
And  over  the  rafter  the  holly  twined. 
He  comes  to-day,  and  the  table  is  spread 
With  milk  and  honey  and  wheaten  bread." 


His  friends  went  home;  and  his  face  grew 

still 
As  he  watched  for  the  shadow  across  the 

sill. 

58 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

He  lived  all  the  moments  o'er  and  o'er, 
When  the  Lord  should-  enter  the  lowly 

door — 

The  knock,  the  call,  the  latch  pulled  up, 
The  lighted  face,  the  offered  cup. 
He  would  wash  the  feet  where  the  spikes 

had  been; 
He  would  kiss  the  hands  where  the  nails 

went  in; 

And  then  at  the  last  would  sit  with  Him 
And  break  the  bread  as  the  day  grew  dim. 

VI 

While  the  cobbler  mused,  there  passed  his 

pane 

A  beggar  drenched  by  thetiving  rain 
He  called  him  in  from  the  sKny  street 
And  gave  him  shoes  for  his  bised  feet. 
The  beggar  went  and  there 
Her  face  with  wrinkles  of 
A  bundle  of  fagots  bowed  her 
And  she  was  spent  with  the  wrench  and 

rack. 

He  gave  her  his  loaf  and  steadied  her  load 
As  she  took  her  way  on  the  weary  road. 

59 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Then  to  his  door  came  a  little  child, 
Lost  and  afraid  in  the  world  so  wild, 
In  the  big,  dark  world.     Catching  it  up, 
He  gave  it  the  milk  in  the  waiting  cup, 
And  led  it  home  to  its  mother's  arms, 
Out  of  the  reach  of  the  world's  alarms. 


VII 

The  day  went  down  in  the  crimson  wrest 
And  with  it  the  hope  of  the  blessed  Guest, 
Arid  Conrad  sighed  as  the  world  turned 

gray: 

"Why  is  it,  Lord,  that  your  feet  delay? 
Did  You  forget  that  this  was  the  day?" 
Then  soft  in  the  silence  a  Voice  he  heard : 
"Lift  up  your  heart,  for  I  kept  my  word. 
Three  times  I  came  to  your  friendly  door; 
Three  times  my  shadow  was  on  your  floor. 
I  was  the  beggar  with  bruised  feet; 
I  was  the  woman  you  gave  to  eat; 
I  was  the  child  on  the  homeless  street!" 


THE  ACCUSING  GOLD 

It  was  when  Ferdinand  was  king 

In  Naples,  back  in  a  little  ring 

Of  noisy  years,  forgot  and  gone, 

A  whirl  of  mist  across  the  dawn. 

A  little  legend  of  those  years 

Stays  to  proclaim  their  toils  and  tears — 

One  little  legend  that,  I  wit, 

Is  in  the  Book  of  Judgment  writ. 

And  now  the  accusement  of  this  rhyme 

Will  cry  it  into  the  ear  of  Time. 


The  king  to  bind  with  crafty  hold 

St.  Francis  of  Castellamare, 

Flung  to  the  friar  a  purse  of  gold 

(You  should  have  seen  the  courtiers  stare!) 

A  thousand  ducats  as  an  alms 

To  lay  within  God's  empty  palms. 

But  Francis,  friend  of  man,  stooped  down, 

61 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  snatching  a  coin  from  the  impious 

purse 

(Stamped  with  the  Prince's  royal  crown, 
But  stamped  more  deep  with  the  People's 

curse) 

He  bent  it  till  it  broke;  and  lo, 
Blood  trickled  out  for  all  to  know! 


"Take  back  your  gold,"  the  friar  cried, 
"The  gold  that  props  your  pomp  and 

pride. 

Behold  the  People's  blood  you  draw 
Through  stealthy  treasons  of  the  law. 
This  blood  proclaims  the  griefs  and  wrongs 
Of  them  to  whom  the  gold  belongs. 
Give  all  to  them,  if  you  would  give 
The  gold  into  God's  hand,  and  live." 


LOVE  AND  YOUTH 


VIRGILIA 


Had  we  two  gone  down  the  world  together, 
I  had  made  fair  ways  for  the  feet  of 

Song, 

And  the  world's  fang  been  but  a  foam- 
soft  feather, 
The  world  that  works  us  wrong. 


If  you  had  but  stayed  when  the  old- sweet 
wonder 

Was  a  precious  pain  in  my  pulsing  side! 
Ah,  why  did  you  hurry  our  lives  asunder — 

You,  born  to  be  my  bride? 


What  sent  it  upon  me— my  soul  impor 
tunes — 

All  the  grief  of  the  world  in  a  little  span, 
6s 


THE  SHOES  OF  HAPPINESS 

All  the  tears  and  fears,  all  the  fates  and 

fortunes, 
That  the  heart  holds  for  a  man? 


Is  this  then  the  grief  that  the  first  gods 
kneaded 

Into  all  joy  that  the  strange  world  brings? 
Did  the  tears  fall  into  the  heap  unheeded, 

These  tears  in  mortal  things? 

But  why  it  was  that  the  whole  world 

wasted, 
This  you  will  know  when  they  count 

the  tears, 

After  the  dust  of  the  grave  is  tasted, 
After  this  noise  of  years. 

Yet  some  things  stay  though  a  world  lies 

broken, 
I  keep  some  things  that  were  dear  of 

old— 
That  first  kiss  spared  and  that  last  word 

spoken 
And  the  glint  of  your  hair's  dark  gold. 

66 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Do  you  mind  that  hour  in  the  soft  sweet 
morning 

When  I  held  you  fast  in  divine  alarms, 
When  my  soul  stood  up  like  a  god  adorning 

His  body  with  bright  arms? 

Forget  it  not  till  the  crowns  are  crumbled 
And  the  swords  of  the  kings  are  rent 

with  rust- 
Forget  it  not  till  the  hills  lie  humbled, 
And  the  springs  of  the  seas  run  dust. 

II 

What  was   I   back   in   the  world's  first 

wonder? — 

An  elf-child  found  on  an  ocean-reef, 
A    sea-child   nursed    by   the    surge    and 

thunder, 
And  marked  for  the  lyric  grief. 

I  mind  me  well  how  the  waves'  edge  whit 
ened 

As  the  shapes  of  the  storm  went  whirl 
ing  by — 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

How  I  laughed  and  ran  when  the  loud 

void  lightened, 
And  tempest  shook  the  sky. 


So  I  will  go  down  by  the  way  of  the  willows, 
And  whisper  it  out  to  the  mother  Sea, 

To  the  soft  sweet  shores  and  the  long 

bright  billows, 
The  dream  that  cannot  be. 


There  will  be  help  for  the  soul's  great 

trouble 

Where  the  sea's  heart  sings  to  the  listen 
ing  ear, 
Where  the  high   gray  cliff  in  the  pool 

hangs  double, 
And  the  moon  is  misting  the  mere. 

'Twas  down  in  the  sea  that  your  soul  took 

fashion, 

0  strange  Love  born  of  the  white  sea- 
wave! 

And  only  the  sea  and  her  lyric  passion 
Can  ease  the  wound  you  gave. 

68 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

I  will  go  down  to  the  wide  wild  places, 
Where  the  calm  cliffs  look  on  the  shores 

around; 
I  will  rest  in  the  power  of  their  great  grave 

faces 
And  the  gray  hush  of  the  ground. 


On  a  cliff's  high  head  a  gray  gull  clamors, 
But  down  at  the  base  is  the  Devil's  brew, 

And  the  swing  of  arms  and  the  heave  of 

hammers, 
And  the  white  flood  roaring  through. 

There  on  the  cliff  is  the  sea-bird's  tavern, 
And  there  with  the  wild  things  I'll  find 

a  home, 
Laugh  with  the  lightning,  shout  with  the 

cavern, 
Run  with  the  feathering  foam. 

I  will  climb  down  where  the  nests  are 

hanging, 

And  the  young  birds   scream  to  the 
swinging  deep, 

69 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Where  the  rocks  and  the  iron  winds  are 

clanging, 
And  the  long  waves  lift  and  leap. 


I  will  thread  the  shores  to  the  cavern 

hollows, 
Where  the  edge  of  the  wave  runs  white 

and  thin; 
I  will  sing  to  the  surge  and  the  foam  that 

follows 
When  the  dark  tides  thunder  in. 


I  will  go  out  where  the  sea-birds  travel, 
And  mix  my  soul  with  the  wind  and  sea; 

Let  the  green  waves  weave  and  the  gray 

rains  ravel, 
And  the  tides  go  over  me. 


The  Sea  is  the  mother  of  songs  and  sor 
rows, 

And  out  of  her  wonder  our  wild  loves 
come; 

70 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  so  it  will  be  through  the  long  to-mor 
rows, 
Till  all  our  lips  are  dumb. 


She  knows  all  sighs  and  she  knows  all  sin 
ning, 
And  they  whisper  out  in  her  breaking 

wave: 

She  has  known  it  all  since  the  far  be 
ginning, 
Since  the  grief  of  that  first  grave. 


She  shakes  the  heart  with  her  stars  and 

thunder 
And  her  soft  low  word  when  the  winds 

are  late; 

For  the  sea  is  Woman,  the  sea  is  Wonder — 
Her  other  name  is  Fate! 


There  is  daring  and  dream  in  her  billows 

breaking — 

In  the  power  of  her  beauty  our  griefs 
forget: 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

She  can  ease  the  heart  of  the  long,  long 

aching, 
And  bury  old  regret. 


Ill 

Will  you  find  rest  as  our  ways  dissever? 

Will  the  gladness  grow  as  the  days  in 
crease? 
Howbeit,  I  leave  on  your  soul  forever 

The  word  of  the  eternal  peace. 


I  will  go  the  road  and  my  song  shall  save 

me, 
Though  grief  may  stay  as  the  heart's  old 

guest : 
I  will  finish  the  work  that  the  strange 

God  gave  me, 
And  then  pass  on  to  rest. 


I  will  go  back  to  the  great  world-sorrow, 
To    the    millions    bearing    the    double 
load — 

72 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

The  fate  of  to-day  and  the  fear  of  to 
morrow: 
I  will  taste  the  dust  of  the  road. 


I  will  go  back  to  the  pains  and  the  pities 
That  break  the  heart  of  the  world  with 
moan; 

I  will  forget  in  the  grief  of  the  cities 
The  burden  of  my  own. 


There  in  the  world-grief  my  own  grief 
humbles, 

My  wild  hour  melts  in  the  days  to  be, 
As  the  wild  white  foam  of  a  river  crumbles, 

Forgotten  in  the  sea. 


73 


THE  CROWNING  HOUR 

I 

It  was  ages  ago  in  life's  first  wonder 
I  found  you,  Virgilia,  wild  sea-heart; 

And  'twas  ages  ago  that  we  went  asunder, 
Ages  and  worlds  apart. 


Your  luminous  face  and  your  hair's  dark 
glory, 

I  knew  them  of  old  by  an  ocean-stream, 
In  a  far,  first  world  now  turned  to  story, 

Now  faded  back  to  dream. 


I  saw  you  there  with  the  sea-girls  fleeing, 
And  I  followed  fast  over  rock  and  reef; 

And  you  sent  a  sea-fire  into  my  being, 
The  lure  of  the  lyric  grief. 

74 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

One  after  one  the  stars  were  slipping, 
Pearl  after  pearl  to  the  bowl  of  night; 

And  down  the  west  three  moons  were  dip 
ping 
Into  the  waves,  all  white. 


I  know  not  now  where  the  moons  were 
misting: 

Perhaps  it  was  Saturn's  belted  track: 
Howbeit,  you  swore  to  a  lovers'  trysting 

In  those  quick  glances  back. 


I  followed  you  fast  through  the  white  sea- 
splendor, 

On  into  the  rush  of  a  blown,  black  rain; 
Drawn  on  by  a  mystery  strangely  tender, 

The  spell  of  a  starry  pain. 


As  up  round  a  headland  the  tides  came 

swirling, 

You  sang  one  song  from  your  wild  sea- 
heart; 

75 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Then  a  mist  swept  in,  and  we  two  went 

whirling, 
Ages  and  worlds  apart. 


II 

We  are  caught  in  the  coil  of  a  God's  ro 
mances — 
We  come  from  old  worlds  and  we  go 

afar: 
I  have  missed  you  again  in  the  Earth's 

wild  chances — 
Now  to  another  star! 


Perhaps  we  are  led  and  our  loves  are 

fated, 

And  our  steps  are  counted  one  by  one; 
Perhaps  we  shall  meet  and  our  souls  be 

mated, 
After  the  burnt-out  sun. 


For  over  the  world  a  dim  hope  hovers, 
The  hope  at  the  heart  of  all  our  songs — 

76 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

That  the  banded  stars  are  in  league  with 

lovers, 
And  fight  against  their  wrongs. 


If  this  is  a  dream,  then  perhaps  our  dream 
ing 

Can  touch  life's  height  to  a  finer  fire: 
Who  knows  but  the  heavens  and  all  their 

seeming 
Were  made  by  the  heart's  desire? 


One  thing  shines  clear  in  the  heart's  sweet 

reason, 

One  lightning  over  the  chasm  runs — 
That  to  turn  from  love  is  the  world's  one 

treason 
That  darkens  all  the  suns. 


So  I  go  to  the  long  adventure,  lifting 
My  face  to  the  far,  mysterious  goals, 

To  the  last  assize,  to  the  final  sifting 
Of  gods  and  stars  and  souls. 

77 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Our  ways  go  wide  and  I  know  not  whither, 
But  my  song  will  search  through  the 

worlds  for  you, 
Till  the  Seven  Seas  waste  and  the  Seven 

Stars  wither, 
And  the  dream  of  the  heart  comes  true. 


I  am  out  to  the  roads  and  the  long,  long 

questing, 
On  dark  tides  driven,  on  great  winds 

blown : 

I  pass  the  rims  of  the  world,  unresting, 
I  sail  to  the  unknown. 


Ill 

There  are  more  lives  yet,  there  are  more 

worlds  waiting, 

For  the  way  climbs  up  to  the  eldest  sun, 
Where  the  white  ones  go  to  their  mystic 

mating, 

And  the  Holy  Will  is  done. 
78 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

I  will  find  you  there  where  our  low  life 

hightens, 
Where  the  door  of  the  Wonder  again 

unbars, 
Where  the  old  love  lures  and  the  old  fire 

whitens, 
In  the  Stars  behind  the  stars. 

Perhaps  we  will  meet  where  the  boughs 

for  rafters 

Shelter  a  cliff  by  an  ocean-stream, 
As  we  met  long  ago  in  the  light  sea- 
laughters 
When  over  me  went  the  dream. 

Perhaps  we  will  meet  on  the  hills  of  fairy, 
Twined  round  by  the  shores  and  the 

scented  vales, 
To  stray  moon-charmed  in  a  high-hung, 

airy 
Dream-wood  of  nightingales. 

We  will  hear  some  word  of  the  world's 

dark  meaning, 
As  we  meet  at  last  by  the  song-loud  trees, 

79 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Hushed  with  the  wonder  of  life,  and  lean 
ing 
Over  the  whispering  seas. 


Ah,    strangely   then   will   the   heart   be 

shaken, 
For  a    spheral    music   will  touch  the 

night; 
And  the  mystic  wind  of  the  worlds  will 

waken, 
Kindling  the  lost  delight. 


It  will  all  come  back — the  wasted  splen 
dor, 
The  heart's  lost  youth  like  a  breaking 

flower, 

The  dauntless  dare,  and  the  wistful,  tender 
Touch  of  the  April  hour. 


As  we  go  star-stilled  in  the  mystic  garden, 
All  the  prose  of  this  life  run  there  to 
rhyme, 

80 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

How  eagerly  then   will  the  poor  heart 

pardon 
All  of  these  hurts  of  Time! 


Ah,  yes,  in  that  hour  of  our  souls  dream- 
driven, 
In  that  high,  white  hour,  0  my  wild 

sea-bride, 

The  tears  and  the  years  will  be  all  for 
given,     .     .     . 
And  all  be  justified. 


81 


LION  AND  LIONESS 

One  night  we  were  together,  you  and  I, 
And  had  unsown  Assyria  for  a  lair, 
Before  the  walls  of  Babylon  rose  in  air. 
Low  languid  hills  were  heaped  along  the  sky, 
And  white  bones  marked  the  wells  of  alkali, 
When  suddenly  down  the  lion-path  a 

sound     .     .     . 
The    wild    man-odor    .     .     .    then    a 

crouch,  a  bound, 

And  the  frail  Thing  fell  quivering  with 
a  cry! 

Your  yellow  eyes  burned  beautiful  with 

light: 

The  dead  man  lay  there  quieted  and  white : 
I  roared  my  triumph  over  the  desert 

wide, 
Then  stretched  out,  glad  of  the  sands 

and  satisfied; 
And  through  the  long,  star-stilled  Assyrian 

night, 

I  felt  your  body  breathing  by  my  side. 
82 


GREEN  HILLS  AND  WINDY 
WAYS 


AT  FRIENDS  WITH  LIFE 

Give  me  green  rafters  and  the  quiet  hills 
Where  peace  will  mix  a  philter  for  my  ills — 
Rafters  of  cedar  and  of  sycamore, 
Where  I  can  stretch  out  on  the  fragrant 

floor, 
And  see  them  peer — the  softly  stepping 

shapes — 
By  the  still  pool  where  hang  the  tart  wild 

grapes. 


There  on  the  hills  of  summer  let  me  lie 
On  the  cool  grass  in  friendship  with  the 

sky. 
Let  me  lie  there  in  love  with  earth  and 

sun, 
And  wonder  up  at  the  light-foot  winds  that 

run, 

Stirring  the  delicate  edges  of  the  trees, 
And  shaking  down  a  music  of  the  seas. 

8s 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Bring  some  old  book — "The  Romaunt  of 

the  Rose," 

A  song  through  which  the  wind  of  morn 
ing  blows. 
Let  me  stretch  out  at  friends  with  life  at 

last, 

Forgetting  all  the  clamors  of  the  past — 
The  broken  dream,  the  flying  word  unjust, 
The  failure,  and  the  friendship  gone  to 
dust. 


86 


WIND  ON  THE  RYE 

There  is  green  on  the  hill,  there  is  gold  on 

the  river, 
And  the  wind  on  the  rye  sets  my  spirit 

a-quiver. 

There's  a  thrill  in  the  sod 
At  the  touch  of  the  God, 
And  a  song  in  my  heart  for  the  gift  and 
the  Giver. 


Now  the  grief  that  for  days  to  my  heart 

has  been  clinging 
Is  gone  down  the  wind  on  the  wings  of 

the  singing. 
The  old  sorrows  die 
In  the  dance  of  the  rye, 
And  the  joy  of  the  world  in  my  spirit  is 
springing! 


ON  THE  SUISUN  HILLS 


"And   there  were   shepherds  abiding  in  the  field,  keeping  watch 
over  their  flock  by  night." — LUKE. 


Long,  long  ago  I  was  a  shepherd  boy, 
My  young  heart  touched  with  wonder  and 

wild  joy. 

Once  in  my  happy  country  far  away, 
One  dear  December  day, 
On  green  Sierran  hills  at  fall  of  sun, 
We  shepherds  came  with  singing,  every 

one 

Bearing  a  fragrant  pack 
Of  manzanita  boughs  upon  the  back. 
And  soon  the  watch-fires  kindled  on  the 

hight 
Were  darting  scarlet  prongs  against  the 

night; 

While  all  the  huddled  sheep 
Were  lying  still,  save  one  belated  ewe 
Bringing  her  lost  lamb  in  with  loud  ado. 

88 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  by  the  crackling  boughs  our  dogs  asleep 
Were  startling  with  short  barks 
Or  pricking  pointed  ears  in  little  harks, 
Chasing  a  dream-coyote  down  the  steep. 


Behind  the  mountain  dim 

The  unrisen  moon  sent  up  a  little  rim 

Of  mystic  light.     The  hour  was  growing 

still, 

Save  for  a  whisper  in  the  hollow  hill, 
Save  for  a  random  bleat  in  the  shifting 

herd 

Or  low  note  of  some  half-awakened  bird — 
The  little  startles  and  alarms  of  dream 
Silvered  by  sounds  of  some  hill-wandering 

stream. 


Resting  my  arm  against  a  friendly  stone, 
The  night  wore  on  until  I  watched  alone. 
High  on  my  crag,  under  the  sky's  wide 

arch, 

Pillared  on  peaks  afar, 
I  watched  the  punctual,  immemorial  march 
Of  star  on  glorious  star; 


THE   SHOES    OF   HAPPINESS 

And  long  thoughts  came  to  me  in  the 
long  night 

Of  shepherds  watching  in  the  starry  light — 

Long  thoughts  of  the  shepherds  of  old 

Who  saw  the  hosts  go  by,  the  heavens  un 
fold, 

And  heard  the  song  shake  down 

High  over  David's  town, 

Where  the  bare  stall  was  His 

Who  on  the  Right  Hand  is; 

While  Magi  on  the  Syrian  sands  afar 

Were  hastening  at  the  signal  of  a  star. 

My  wild  boy-heart  did  burn  to  have  been 
there, 

In  that  strange  night,  in  that  celestial  air, 

When  wise  and  simple,  too, 
Touched  by  one  joy,  to  one  high  stature 
grew. 


THE  HEART'S  RETURN 

When  darkened  hours  come  crowding 

fast, 

A  thought— and  all  the  dark  is  past! 
For  I  am  back  a  boy  again, 
Knee-deep  in  heading  barley  in  a  Men- 

docino  glen. 


I  cannot  ever  be  so  sad 
But  one  thing  still  will  make  me  glad — 
That  hid  spring  in  the  Suisiin  hills: 
My  heart  keeps  going  back  to  it  thru  all 
the  earthly  ills. 


How  often  when  the  brood  of  care 
Would  hold  me  in  a  hopeless  snare, 
My  soul  springs  winged  and  away, 
Remembering  that  wild  duck's  nest  above 
Benicia  bay! 

91 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Or  when  night  finds  me  toiling  still, 
I  am  back  again  on  the  greening  hill, 
A  shepherd  boy  at  set  of  sun, 
Folding  his  happy  sheep  and  knowing  all 
his  tasks  are  done. 


SCRIPT  FOR  THE  JOURNEY 


MAN-TEST 

When  in  the  dim  beginning  of  the  years, 
God  mixed  in  man  the  raptures  and  the 

tears 
And  scattered  thru  his  brain  the  starry 

stuff, 

He  said,  "Behold!  Yet  this  is  not  enough, 
For  I  must  test  his  spirit  to  make  sure 
That  he  can  dare  the  Vision  and  endure. 


"I  will  withdraw  my  Face, 

Vail  me  in  shadow  for  a  certain  space, 

Leaving  behind  Me  only  a  broken  clue — 

A  crevice  where  the  glory  glimmers  thru, 

Some  whisper  from  the  sky, 

Some  footprint  in  the  road  to  track  Me  by. 

"  I  will  leave  man  to  make  the  fateful  guess, 
Will  leave  him  torn  between  the  No  and 
Yes, 

95 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Leave  him  unresting  till  he  rests  in  Me, 
Drawn  upward  by  the  choice  that  makes 

him  free — 

Leave  him  in  tragic  loneliness  to  choose, 
With  all  in  life  to  win  or  all  to  lose." 


THE  PILGRIM 

Man  comes  a  pilgrim  of  the  universe, 
Out  of  the  mystery  that  was  before 
The  world,  out  of  the  wonder  of  old  stars. 
Far  roads  have  felt  his  feet,  forgotten  wells 
Have  glassed  his  beauty  bending  down  to 

drink. 

At  altar-fires  anterior  to  Earth 
His  soul  was  lighted,  and  it  will  burn  on 
After  the  suns  have  wasted  on  the  void. 
His  feet  have  felt  the  pressure  of  old 

worlds, 

And  are  to  tread  on  others  yet  unnamed — 
Worlds  sleeping  yet  in  some  new  dream  of 

God. 


97 


THE  DEEP  OF  GOD 

Know  man  and  you  will  know  the  deep  of 

God; 

For  I  who  cry  my  wonder  over  life, 
Am  I  not  part  of  That  behind  it  all? 
Do  I  not  feel  the  passion  of  the  one 
Who  was  anterior  to  the  morning  star? 
Did  I  not  come  out  of  the  ,Mystery, 
Out  of  the  Infinite?     So  in  my  sigh 
Do  I  not  breathe  its  sorrow:  in  my  will 
Do   I   not  speak  its  purpose?     When  a 

stone 

Falls  from  a  star,  we  find  within  the  stone 
The  secret  of  the  vastness  whence  it  fell. 


VICTORY  IN  DEFEAT 

Defeat  may  serve  as  well  as  victory 

To  shake  the  soul  and  let  the  glory  out. 

When  the  great  oak  is  straining  in  the 
wind, 

The  boughs  drink  in  new  beauty,  and  the 
trunk 

Sends  down  a  deeper  root  on  the  wind 
ward  side. 

Only  the  soul  that  knows  the  mighty  grief 

Can  know  the  mighty  rapture.  Sorrows 
come 

To  stretch  out  spaces  in  the  heart  for  joy. 


THE  HIDDEN  GLACIER 

There  is  no  time  for  hate,   0  wasteful 

friend : 

Put  hate  away  until  the  ages  end. 
Have   you    an   ancient  wound?    Forget 

the  wrong.     .     .     . 

Out  in  my  West  a  forest  loud  with  song 
Towers  high  and  green  over  a  field  of  snow, 
Over  a  glacier  buried  far  below. 


zoo 


A  WORKMAN  TO  THE  GODS 

Once  Phidias  stood,  with  hammer  in  his 

hand, 

Carving  Athene  from  the  breathing  stone, 
Tracing  with  love  the  winding  of  a  hair, 
A  single  hair  upon  her  head,  whereon 
A  youth  of  Athens  cried,  "0  Phidias, 
Why  do  you  dally  on  a  hidden  hair? 
When  she  is  lifted  to  the  lofty  front 
Of  the   Parthenon,   no  human  eye  will 


see." 


And  Phidias  thundered  on  him :    "  Silence, 

slave: 
Men  will  not  see,  but  the  Immortals  will!" 


101 


REVELATION 

I  made  a  pilgrimage  to  find  the  God: 
I  listened  for  his  voice  at  holy  tombs, 
Searched  for  the  print  of  his  immortal 

feet 

In  dust  of  broken  altars;  yet  turned  back 
With  empty  heart.    But  on  the  homeward 

road, 

A  great  light  came  upon  me,  and  I  heard 
The  God's  voice  singing  in  a  nesting  lark; 
Felt  his  sweet  wonder  in  a  swaying  rose; 
Received  his  blessing  from  a  wayside  well; 
Looked  on  his  beauty  in  a  lover's  face; 
Saw  his  bright  hand  send  signal  from  the 

sun. 


102 


"SHINE   ON   ME,   SECRET   SPLEN 
DOR" 

Shine  on  me,  Secret  Splendor,  till  I  feel 
That  all  are  one  upon  the  mighty  wheel. 
Let  me  be  brother  to  the  meanest  clod, 
Knowing  he,  too,  bears  on  the  dream  of 

God; 

Yet  be  fastidious,  and  have  such  friends 
That   when   I   think   of   them   my   soul 

ascends! 


103 


ANCHORED  TO  THE  INFINITE 

The  builder  who  first  bridged  Niagara's 

gorge, 

Before  he  swung  his  cable,  shore  to  shore, 
Sent  out  across  the  gulf  his  venturing  kite 
Bearing  a  slender  cord  for  unseen  hands 
To  grasp  upon  the  further  cliff  and  draw 
A  greater  cord,  and  then  a  greater  yet; 
Till  at  the  last  across  the  chasm  swung 
The  cable — then  the  mighty  bridge  in  air! 

So  we  may  send  our  little  timid  thought 
Across  the  void,  out  to  God's  reaching 

hands — 
Send  out  our  love  and  faith  to  thread  the 

deep — 
Thought   after  thought   until   the   little 

cord 
Has  greatened  to  a  chain  no  chance  can 

break, 
And — we  are  anchored  to  the  Infinite! 

104 


ONE  MUSIC 

There  is  a  high  place  in  the  upper  air, 
So  high  that  all  the  jarring  sounds  of 

earth — 

All  cursing  and  all  crying  and  all  mirth — 
Melt  to  one  murmur  and  one  music  there. 


And  so,  perhaps,  high  over  worm  and  clod, 
There  is  an  unimaginable  goal, 
Where  all  the  wars  and  discords  of  the  soul 
Make  one  still  music  to  the  heart  of  God. 


105 


SWUNG  TO  THE  VOID 

Once,  suddenly,  I  found  myself  alone, 
Out  in  the  void  of  a  great  city,  filled 
With  tremblings  and  the  cry  of  many  fears, 


Making  escape  out  of  the  human  deep, 
I  climbed  heart-troubled  to  the  leafy  hills; 
And  stretching  on  a  bank  above  a  stream, 
I  gazed  up  to  the  dome  of  the  high  boughs, 
And  wondered  over  life  and  life's  alarms. 
And  as  I  lay  there  asking  for  a  sign, 
I  saw  a  spider  flash  his  filmy  ropes 
Across  the  dome;  saw  him,  with  rapturous 

fall, 

Drop  on  a  silver  cable  to  the  void, 
And  hang  serenely  in  the  rosy  beams 
Of  sunset— hang  all  still  and  unafraid. 

106 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

And  lo,  a  courage  came  upon  my  soul, 
With  long,  long  thoughts  of  this  adven 
turer, 

This  little  dweller  in  the  floorless  air, 
Held  in  the  peace  that  folds  the  earth  and 
stars. 


107 


THE  PLACE  OF  PEACE 

At  the  heart  of  the  cyclone  tearing  the  sky 
And  flinging  the  clouds  and  the  towers  by, 

Is  a  place  of  central  calm: 
So  here  in  the  roar  of  mortal  things, 
I  have  a  place  where  my  spirit  sings, 

In  the  hollow  of  God's  Palm. 


108 


REST  IN  FLIGHT 

The  flying  arrow,  knowing  its  path  is  made, 
Goes  singing  softly  at  the  bow's  behest, 

Taking  its  destined  journey  unafraid — 
In  every  moment  of  the  flight  at  rest. 

So  speed,  0  soul,  to  your  divine  abode: 
Go  singing  through  the  shadow  and  the 

light- 
Go  bravely  on  your  high-appointed  road, 
At  rest  in  every  moment  of  your  flight. 


IOQ 


THEY  WAIT  FOR  YOU 

Look  not,  0  friend,  with  unavailing  tears 
Into  the  Past — look  to  the  brave  young 

years! 

Look  to  the  Future:  all  is  there  in  wait, 
All  that  you  fought  for  by  the  broken 

gate — 
The  faith  that  faltered  and  the  hope  that 

fell, 
The  song  that  died  into  a  lonely  knell. 


It  is  all  there — the  love  that  went  astray 
With  bitter  cries  on  that  remembered  day; 
The  joys  that  were  so  needed  by  the  heart, 
And  all  the  tender  dreams  you  saw  de 
part. 

Nothing  is  lost  forever  that  the  soul 
Cried  out  for:  all  is  waiting  at  the  goal. 


no 


RECORDS  IN  THE  JUDGMENT 
BOOK 

Bishops  and  deans,  would  you  detect 
The  crowning  mark  of  the  Elect — 
Know  who  believe  beyond  rebuke 
The  Gospel  and  the  Pentateuch — 
Know  who  accept  the  Thirty-Nine, 
And  taste  with  Christ  the  mystic  wine? 
Then  search  the  face  of  him  you  doubt 
And  that  will  let  the  secret  out. 
Explore  the  face,  and  do  not  spare: 
The  Book  of  Life  is  written  there! 


And  would  you  know  the  other  host, 
Those  that  profane  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Those  that  deny  the  Ancient  Word 
The  seers  upon  the  mountain  heard? 
Then  search  the  countenance,  and  trace 
Their  heresies  upon  the  face: 

in 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

That  hardened  line,  that  loveless  look, 
Are  records  in  the  Judgment  Book. 
The  truth  is  written  and  writ  plain 
Whether  we  be  for  Christ  or  Cain. 


So  shut  the  books  about  it  all — 
Shut  Augustine,  shut  Ingersoll, 
Aquinus,  Calvin,  tome  by  tome — 
Shut  Schleiermacher,  shut  Jerome. 
Look  on  the  face,  for  written  there 
The  final  judgments  are  laid  bare. 
The  name  is  on  the  forehead  writ 
Of  all  that  with  the  seraphs  sit — 
Of  all  that  stumble  toward  the  Pit. 


113 


SOCIAL  VISION 


EARTH  IS  ENOUGH 

We  men  of  Earth  have  here  the  stuff 
Of  Paradise — we  have  enough ! 
We  need  no  other  stones  to  build 
The  stairs  into  the  Unfulfilled — 
No  other  ivory  for  the  doors — 
No  other  marble  for  the  floors — 
No  other  cedar  for  the  beam 
And  dome  of  man's  immortal  dream. 


Here  on  the  paths  of  every-day — 
Here  on  the  common  human  way 
Is  all  the  stuff  the  gods  would  take 
To  build  a  Heaven,  to  mold  and  make 
New  Edens.     Ours  the  stuff  sublime 
To  build  Eternity  in  time! 


CONSCRIPTS  OF  THE  DREAM 

Give  thanks,  0  heart,  for  the  high  souls 
That  point  us  to  the  deathless  goals — 
For  all  the  courage  of  their  cry 
That  echoes  down  from  sky  to  sky; 
Thanksgiving  for  the  armed  seers 
And  heroes  called  to  mortal  years — 
Souls  that  have  built  our  faith  in  man, 
And  lit  the  ages  as  they  ran. 


Lincoln,  Mazzini,  Lamennais, 
Doing  the  deed  that  others  pray; 
Cromwell,  St.  Francis,  and  the  rest, 
Bearing  the  God-fire  in  the  breast — 
These  are  the  sons  of  sacred  flame, 
Their  brows  marked  with  the  secret 

name — 

The  company  of  souls  supreme, 
The  conscripts  of  the  mighty  Dream. 

116 


THE    SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Made  of  unpurchasable  stuff, 

They   went   the   way   when   ways   were 

rough; 

They,  when  the  traitors  had  deceived, 
Held  the  long  purpose,  and  believed; 
They,  when  the  face  of  God  grew  dim, 
Held  thru  the  dark  and  trusted  Him — 
Brave  souls  that  took  the  perilous  trail 
And  felt  the  vision  could  not  fail. 


Give  thanks  for  heroes  that  have  stirred 
Earth  with  the  wonder  of  a  word. 
But  all  thanksgiving  for  the  breed 
Who  have  bent  destiny  with  deed- 
Souls  of  the  high,  heroic  birth, 
Souls  sent  to  poise  the  shaken  Earth, 
And  then  called  back  to  God  again 
To  make  Heaven  possible  for  men. 


117 


THE  TESTIMONY  OF  THE  DUST 

Voices  are  crying  from  the  dust  of  Tyre, 
From  Karnak  and  the  stones  of  Baby 
lon — 

"We  raised  our  pillars  upon  self-desire, 
And  perished  from  the  large  gaze  of  the 
sun." 


A  grandeur  looked  down  from  the  pyramid, 
A  glory  came  on  Greece,  a  light  on 

Rome; 

But  in  them  all  the  ancient  Traitor  hid, 
And  so  they  passed  like  momentary 
foam. 


There  was  no  substance  in  their  soaring 

hopes; 

The  voice  of  Thebes  is  now  a  desert  cry: 
A  spider  bars  the  road  with  filmy  ropes, 
Where  once  the  feet  of  Carthage  thun 
dered  by. 

118 


THE  SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

A  bittern  cries  where  once  Queen  Dido 

laughed; 
A  thistle  nods  where  once  the  Forum 

poured; 

A  lizard  lifts  and  listens  on  a  shaft, 
Where  once  of  old  the  Colosseum  roared. 


It  is  a  Vision  waiting  and  aware; 
And  you  must  draw  it  down,  0  men  of 

worth — 

Draw  down  the  New  Republic  held  in  air, 
And  make  for  it  foundations  on  the 
Earth. 


IIQ 


THE  BARD 

He  is  the  Awakener  sent  into  these  skies 
To  cheer  the  men  that  stagger  with 

their  load; 
And  where  men  wander  and  grope,  to 

light  the  road; 

And  where  men  rot  in  ease,  to  cry  "Arise: 
The  horns  are  calling  to  the  great  em- 
prize!" 

Wherever  there  is  sleep,  he  is  a  goad, 
A  voice  to  point  the  path  the  heroes 

strode; 
For  in  him  is  the  God  that  climbs  and  cries. 


He  is  the  herald  sent  from  worlds  afar 
To  rouse  the  dead  and  stir  the  doors 

that  rust. 

He  calls  young  hearts  to  war,  to  glorious 
war; 

120 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  old  hearts  chilled  by  the  approach 
ing  dust, 
He  quickens,  till  they  climb  the  towers 

august 
To  listen  for  the  coming  of  some  star. 

To  Robert  Underwood  Johnson. 


THE  CHATEAU  BAGATELLE 

of  Bois  de  Boulogne,  Paris 

A    queen's    caprice,    a    courtier's    boast, 

and  lo, 

The  gilt  chateau  mushrooming  into  air, 

Rose  lightly  as  a  mist  the  breezes  bear — 

Rose  reckless  of  the  People's  ancient  woe, 

The  patient  misery  that  the  toilers  know — 

Rose  on  the  brink  of  all  that  ruin  of 

things, 
The  crash  of  centuries,   the  doom  of 

kings, 
Volcanic  rages  thundering  from  below. 


Fools!   fools!   one  hour  and   hell   comes 

battle-red, 
With  work-worn  millions  crying  out  for 

bread, 

122 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

The  fury  of  a  people  spurned  and  trod — 
Comes  with  the  hoof-beat  of  the  Mar 
seillaise, 
With  cries  and  curses  of  the  judgment 

day, 
With  wild  hands  groping  blindly  after  God! 


123 


THE  FEAR   FOR  THEE,   MY 
COUNTRY 

In  storied  Venice,  where  the  night  repeats 
The  heaven  of  stars  down  all  her  rippling 

streets, 
Stood  the  great  Bell  Tower,  fronting  seas 

and  skies — 

Fronting  the  ages,  drawing  all  men's  eyes; 
Rooted  like  Teneriffe,  aloft  and  proud, 
Taunting  the  lightning,  tearing  the  flying 

cloud. 


It  marked  the  hours  for  Venice:  all  men 

said 

Time  cannot  reach  to  bow  that  lofty  head : 
Time,  that  shall  touch  all  else  with  ruin, 

must 
Forbear  to  make  this  shaft  confess  its 

dust. 

Yet  all  the  while,  in  secret,  without  sound, 
The  fat  worms  gnawed  the  timbers  under 
ground. 


THE    SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

The  twisting  worm,  whose  epoch  is  an  hour, 
Caverned  his  way  into  the  mighty  tower; 
Till  suddenly  it  shook,  it  swayed,  it  broke, 
And  fell  in  darkening  thunder  at  one  stroke. 
The  strong  shaft,  with  an  angel  on  the 

crown, 
Fell  ruining:  a  thousand  years  went  down! 

And  so  I  fear,  my  country,  not  the  hand 
That  shall  hurl  night  and  whirlwind  on  the 

land; 

I  fear  not  Titan  traitors  who  shall  rise 
To  stride  like  Brocken  shadows  on  our 

skies : 

These  we  can  face  in  open  fight,  withstand 
With  reddening  rampart  and  the  sworded 
hand. 

I  fear  the  vermin  that  shall  undermine 
Senate  and  citadel  and  school  and  shrine — 
The  Worm  of  Greed,  the  fatted  Worm  of 

Ease, 

And  all  the  crawling  progeny  of  these — 
The  vermin   that   shall   honeycomb   the 

towers 

And  walls  of  State  in  unsuspecting  hours. 

125 


THE  RIGHT  TO  LABOR  IN  JOY 

Out  on  the  roads  they  have  gathered,  a 

hundred-thousand  men, 
To  ask  for  a  hold  on  life  as  sure  as  the 

wolfs  hold  in  his  den. 
Their  need  lies  close  to  the  quick  of  life 

as  rain  to  the  furrow  sown: 
It  is  as  meat  to  the  slender  rib,  as  marrow 

to  the  bone. 


They  ask  but  the  leave  to  labor  for  a 

taste  of  life's  delight, 
For  a  little  salt  to  savor  their  bread,  for 

houses  water-tight. 
They  ask  but  the  right  to  labor,  and  to 

live  by  the  strength  of  their  hands — 
They  who  have  bodies  like  knotted  oaks, 

and  patience  like  sea-sands. 
126 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  the  right  of  a  man  to  labor  and  his 

right  to  labor  in  joy — 
Not  all  your  laws  can  strangle  that  right, 

nor  the  gates  of  Hell  destroy. 
For  it  came  with  the  making  of  man  and 

was  kneaded  into  his  bones, 
And  it  will  stand  at  the  last  of  things  on 

the  dust  of  crumbled  thrones. 


127 


THE  PERIL  OF  EASE 

Are  you  sheltered,  curled  up  and  content 

by  the  world's  warm  fire? 
Then  I  say  that  your  soul  is  in  danger! 
The  sons  of  the  Light,  they  are  down  with 

God  in  the  mire, 
God  in  the  manger. 

The  old-time  heroes  you  honor,  whose  ban 
ners  you  bear, 

The  whole  world  no  longer  prohibits: 
But  if  you  peer  into  the  past  you  will  find 

them  there, 
Swinging  from  gibbets. 

So  rouse  from  your  perilous  ease:  to  your 

sword  and  your  shield  : 
Your  ease  is  the  ease  of  the  cattle. 
Hark,  hark,  where  the  bugles  are  calling: 

out  to  some  field — 
Out  to  some  battle! 
128 


A  COMRADE  CALLED  BACK 

f  Ernest  Crosby,  poet  and  social  reformer,  died  Janu 
ary,  3,  1907.) 

Comrade,  why  did  you  leave  us? 

We  needed  you  here  in  the  fight. 
Why  did  the  high  gods  bereave  us? 
We  needed  your  bold  arm,  believe  us, 

To  carry  the  torch  in  the  night. 


They  sounded  recall  and  you  started, 
And  now  you  are  There  upon  guard, 
In  the  band  of  the  heroes  departed, 
Still  fighting  our  battle,  high-hearted, 
Our  captain,  our  brother,  our  bard. 

You  went  as  a  knight  goes  a-faring, 

To  join  the  brave  comrades  above, 
To  rally  where  Lincoln  and  Waring, 
Mazzini  and  all  of  the  daring 
Still  fight  in  the  battle  of  love. 
129 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

The  Herods  of  hatred  assailed  you; 

They  pricked  you  with  thorns  and  with 

spears : 

But  up  in  the  Light,  when  Earth  failed  you, 
The  heroes  of  Heaven,  they  hailed  you — 

Owen,  Garrison,  George,  and  the  seers. 

High  souls  that  had  valor  and  vision, 

High  souls  that  passed  under  the  rod; 
Yet  held  on  through  scourge  and  derision, 
Still  calling  the  world  to  decision, 
To  choose  between  Mammon  and  God. 

From  purple  and  pomp,  you  elected 

To  walk  in  the  gray  common  road : 
To  keep  your  free  soul,  high-erected, 
You  joined  the  despised,  the  rejected, 
To  lift  at  the  terrible  load. 

We  saw  you,  with  strong  face  unf earing, 
Make  way  through  the  noise  of  the 

horde — 

Right  on  through  the  jibe  and  the  jeering; 
And  ever  to  laughter  and  fleering, 
Your  song  was  your  answering  sword. 
130 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

What  voice  will  now  speak  for  the  humble, 
0  Comrade — yea,  speak  for  us  all? 

What  hand  light  the  way  where  we 
stumble? 

What  hand  stay  the  pillars  that  crumble, 
And  put  back  the  stones  in  the  wall  ? 


And  now  that  your  errand  is  ended, 
And  now  that  your  steps  go  afar, 

What  strong  soul  will  catch  up  the  splen 
did 

High  dream  that  your  spirit  attended — 
The  purpose  of  God  for  our  star? 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  in  the  3rd  and  4th  stanzas 
Mr.  Markham  refers  to  George  Waring,  Robert  Owen,  Lloyd 
Garrison,  and  Henry  George,  the  reformers  dear  to  all  who  look 
and  labor  for  the  New  Time. 


FREEDOM 

Here  in  the  forest  now, 

As  on  that  old  July 

When  first  our  conscript  fathers  took  the 

vow, 

The  bluebird,  stained  with  earth  and  sky, 
Shouts  from  a  blowing  bough 
In  green  aerial  freedom,  wild  and  high. 
And  now,  as  then,  the  bobolink, 
Out  on  the  uncertain  brink 
Of  the  swaying  alder,  swings, 
Loosing  his  song  out,  link  by  golden  link; 
While  over  the  wood  his  proclamation 

rings, 
A  daring  boast  that  would  unkingdom 

kings ! 

Even  so  the  wild  birds  sang  on  bough  and 

wall 

That  day  the  Bell  of  Independence  Hall 
Thundered  around  the  world  the  Word  of 

Man, 

That  day  when  Liberty  began 

132 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  mighty  hopes  were  blown  on  every 

sea. 
But  Freedom  calls  her  conscripts  now  as 

then- 
Calls  for  heroic  men : 
It  is  an  endless  battle  to  be  free. 
As  the  old  dangers  lessen  from  the  skies, 
New  dangers  rise : 
Down  the  long  centuries  to  be, 
Again,  again,  will  rise  Thermopylae — 
Again,  again,  a  new  Leonidas 
Will  hold  for  God  the  imperilled  Pass. 
As  the  long  ages  run 
New  Lexington  will  rise  on  Lexington; 
And  many  a  Warren  fall 
Upon  the  endangered  wall. 
Yes,  in  the  years  to  come, 
New  Belgium  will  rise  on  Belgium, 
And  many  an  Albert  risk  for  honor — all. 


Man  is  the  conscript  of  an  endless  quest, 
A  long  divine  adventure  without  rest. 
Each  hard-earned  freedom  withers  to  a 

bond: 

Freedom  forever  is  beyond — beyond! 
133 


THE  JEWS 

Once  verily,  0  mighty  Czar,  your  crown 

was  justified, 
When  from  your  place  among  the  thrones 

your  lifted  spirit  cried : 
"Let  there  be  no  more  wars  on  earth,  let 

weary  cannons  cease." 
Well  was  it,   Ruler  of  the  North,   that 

Caesar  should  say,  "Peace!" 
And  yet  from  Russia  comes  a  cry  of  souls 

that  would  be  free; 
A  cry  from  the  windy  Baltic  runs  down 

to  the  Euxine  Sea. 
It  is  the  cry  of  a  people,  of  a  people  old 

in  grief, 
A  people  homeless  on  the  earth  and  shaken 

as  the  leaf. 

Listen  a  moment  with  your  heart  and 

you  will  hear,  0  Czar, 
There  in  your  clear  cold  spaces  under 

the  great  North  Star — 
134 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

There  in  your  Arctic  silences  swept  clean 
of  base  desire, 

Where  the  unseen  Watcher  reaches  up  the 
awful  Fan  of  Fire. 

Around  you  is  the  vastness  and  the  won 
drous  hush  of  snow, 

That  you  may  hear  their  cry  in  the  night 
and  let  the  captives  go. 

Have  they  not  kingly  lineage,  have  they 
not  pedigree? 

Are  they  not  wrapt  with  wonder,  like  the 
darkness  of  the  sea? 


They  come  out  of  the  night  of  years  with 
Asia  in  their  blood, 

Out  of  the  mystery  of  Time  that  was 
before  the  Flood. 

They  saw  imperial  Egypt  shrink  and  join 
the  ruined  lands; 

They  saw  the  sculptured  scarlet  East  sink 
under  the  gray  sands; 

They  saw  the  star  of  Hellas  rise  and  glim 
mer  into  dream; 

They  saw  the  wolf  of  Rome  draw  suck 
beside  the  yellow  stream, 
135 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  go  with  ravenous  eyes  ablaze  and 
jaws  that  would  not  spare, 

Snarling  across  the  earth,  then,  tooth 
less,  die  upon  his  lair. 

And  have  they  not  had  grief  enough, 
this  people  shrunk  with  chains  ? 

Must  there  be  more  Assyrias,  must  there 
be  other  Spains? 

They  are  the  tribes  of  sorrow,  and  for 
ages  have  been  fed 

On  brackish  desert-wells  of  hate  and  ex 
ile's  bitter  bread. 

They  sang  the  elegies  that  tell  the  grief 
of  mortal  years; 

They  built  the  tombs  of  Pharaohs,  mixing 
the  bricks  with  tears; 

They  built  the  walls  of  cities  with  no  thres 
hold  for  their  own; 

They  gave  their  dirge  to  Nineveh,  to 
Babylon  their  moan. 

After  tears  by  ruined  altars,  after  toils  in 

alien  lands, 
After  waitings  by  strange  waters,   after 

lifting  of  vain  hands, 
136 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

After  cords  and  stripes  and  burdens,  after 

ages  scorched  with  fire, 
Shall  they  not  find  the  way  of  peace,  a 

land  of  heart's  desire? 
Shall  they  not  have  a  place  to  pray,  a 

place  to  lay  the  head? 
Shall  they  not  have  the  wild  bird's  rest, 

the  fox's  frugal  bed? 
Men's  eyes  are  on  you,  mighty  Czar;  the 

world  awaits  the  word; 
The  blood-splashed  gates  are  eager,  and 

the  rusted  bolt  has  stirred ! 


137 


LOVE'S  HERO-WORLD 

Alas,  how  much  of  life  is  lost — 

How  much  is  black  and  bitter  with  the 

frost, 

That  might  be  sweet  with  the  sweet  sun, 
If  men  could  only  know  that  all  are  one! 

But  it  will  rise,  Love's  hero-world  at  last, 
The  joy-world   wreathed   with  freedom, 

and  heart-fast — 
The  world  love-sheltered  from  the  wolfish 

law 
Of  ripping  tooth  and  clutching  claw. 

It  comes!  the  high  inbrothering  of  men, 
The  New  Earth  seen  by  John  of  Patmos, 

when 
The  comrade-dream  was  on  his  mighty 

heart. 

I  see  the  anarchs  of  the  Pit  depart — 
The  Greeds,  the  Fears,  the  Hates, 
The  carnal,  wild-haired  Fates. 

138 


THE    SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Comrades,  rejoice  with  me, 

For  the  joy  that  is  to  be, 

When  all  the  world,  far  as  the  blue  sky 

bends, 
Shall  be  a  light-heart  company  of  friends! 


139 


COURAGE,  ALL! 

Old  gods,  avaunt !  The  rosy  East  is  wak 
ing, 

And  in  the  dawn  your  shapes  of  clay  are 
shaking: 

Ye  broke  men's  hearts,  and  now  your  own 
are  breaking. 

Over  all  lands  a  winged  hope  is  flying: 
It  goes  without  reproof,  without  replying: 
It  bears  God's  courage  to  the  dulled  and 
dying. 

The  rusted  chain  that  bound  the  world  is 

broken ; 
A  new  strange  star  pricks  down  the  night 

for  token; 
And  the  Great  Word  is  waiting  to  be 

spoken! 


WAR  AND  PEACE 


THE  CHANT  OF  THE  VULTURES 

We  are  circling,  glad  of  the  battle:  we 

joy  in  the  smell  of  the  smoke. 
Fight  on  in  the  hell  of  the  trenches:  we 

publish  your  names  with  a  croak! 
Ye  will  lie  in  dim  heaps  when  the  sunset 

blows  cold  on  the  reddening  sand; 
Yet  fight,  for  the  dead  will  have  wages — a 

death-clutch  of  dust  in  the  hand. 
Ye  have  given  us  banquet,  0  kings,  and 

still  do  we  clamor  for  more : 
Vast,  vast  is  our  hunger,  as  vast  as  the 

sea-hunger  gnawing  the  shore. 


Tis  well  ye  are  swift  with  your  signals — 
the  blaze  of  the  banners,  the  blare 

Of  the  bugles,  the  boom  of  battalions,  the 
cannon-breath  hot  on  the  air. 
143 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

It  is  for  our  hunger  ye  hurry,  it  is  for  our 
feast  ye  are  met: 

Be  sure  we  will  never  forget  you,  0  ser 
vants  that  never  forget ! 

For  we  are  the  Spirits  of  Battle,  the  peer 
age  of  greed  we  defend : 

Our  lineage  rose  from  the  Night,  and  we 
go  without  fellow  or  friend. 


We  were  ere  our  servant  Sesostris  spread 
over  the  Asian  lands 

The  smoke  of  the  blood  of  the  peoples, 
and  scattered  their  bones  to  the  sands. 

We  circled  in  revel  for  ages  above  the  As 
syrian  stream, 

While  Babylon  builded  her  beauty,  and 
faded  to  dust  and  to  dream. 

We  scattered  our  laughter  on  nations — 
and  Troy  was  a  word  and  a  waste, 

The  glory  of  Carthage  was  ruined,  the 
grandeur  of  Rome  was  effaced! 


And  we  blazoned  the  name  of  Timour,  as 
he  harried  his  herd  of  kings, 
144 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  the  host  of  his  hordes  wound  on,  a 

dragon  with  undulant  rings. 
And  we  slid  down  the  wind  upon  France, 

when   the  steps   of  the   earthquake 

passed, 
When  the  Bastile  bloomed  into  flame,  and 

the  heavens  went  by  on  the  blast. 
We  hung  over  Austerlitz,   cheering  the 

armies  with  jubilant  cries: 
We  scented  three  kings  at  the  carnage, 

and  croaked  our  applause  from  the 

skies. 


0  kings,  ye  have  catered  to  vultures — 

have  chosen  to  feed  us,  forsooth, 
The  joy  of  the  world  and  her  glory,  the 

hope  of  the  world  and  her  youth. 
0  kings,  ye  are  diligent  lackeys :  we  laurel 

your  names  with  our  praise, 
For  ye  are  the  staff  of  our  comfort,  for  ye 

are  the  strength  of  our  days. 
Then  spur  on  the  host  in  the  trenches  to 

give  up  the  sky  at  a  stroke : 
We  tell  all  the  winds  of  their  glory:  we 

publish  their  fame  with  a  croak! 
145 


AN  APRIL  GREETING 

(To  Alfred  Noyes,  Apostle  of  Poetry  and  Peace.) 

Again  the  mood  of  Eden  on  the  earth! 
Again  the  summons  and  the  mystic  mirth, 
The  beauty  and  the  wonder  and  the  dare, 
Thrilling  the  heart,  the  field,  the  delicate 
air! 


So  now  once  more  the  old  remembering: 
The  lyric  hosts  come  out  of  the  South  with 

song, 
With  music  that  can  save  the  soul  from 

wrong — 

The  immemorial  multitudes  a-wing 
Down  bright  savannas,  over  the  greening 

trees. 
Hark,  the  first  warblings  in  the  boughs 

soft-stirred! 

And  you,  0  Poet,  with  your  winged  words, 
You  come  convoyed  by  these! 

146 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

You  come  with  all  the  buds  and  birds 

astart — 

You  with  the  heart  of  April  in  your  heart. 
So  take  our  banded  welcome  as  we  drink 
A   health   to    you   on   April's    flowering 

brink — 

To  you  come  hither  from  that  elder  clime, 
Where  April  has  been  wreathed  in  poets' 

rhyme, 

Been  touched  with  love  and  tears 
By  English  minstrels  down  a  thousand 

years. 

And  when  your  Sherwood  Forest  calls  you 

home 

Over  the  furrows  of  the  ocean  foam, 
Take  message  from  this  people  to  your 

own — 
To  England,  with  her  scented  hawthorns 

blown, 

And  all  her  skylarks  in  a  rapture-pain 
Sprinkling  the  happy  fields  with  lyric  rain. 
Tell  her  that  lordlier  than  her  cliffs  and 

towers, 
Tell  her  that  mightier  than  her  pomps  and 

powers, 

147 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

We  see  her  line  of  poets  stretching  back 
Ten  centuries,  a  bright,  immortal  track. 
Tell  her  that  while  she  built  the  things  that 

seem, 
They  built  her  glory   out   of   deathless 

dream. 


Ah,  more  is  that  wild  beauty  left  by  Keats 
Than  all  the  blazon  of  her  kingly  seats; 
More  is  that  wonder  from  the  hand  of 

Blake 
Than  all  her  guns  that  make  the  nations 

quake; 

More  is  her  Shelley,  with  his  starry  dare, 
Than  all  her  flags  ringed  round  with  battle 

blare; 

More  her  blind  Milton  voyaging  the  Vast 
Than  all  her  squadrons  shearing  down  the 

blast; 

And  more  is  Shakspere,  lord  of  lyric  seers, 
Than   all   her  conquests   of  a  thousand 

years. 

But  none  of  all  the  line 
(Save  only  Shelley,  darling  of  the  Nine) 
148 


THE   SHOES    OF   HAPPINESS 

Has  cried  as  you  have  cried  the  valorous 

vow 
Of  Love's  heroic  heart,  God's  prayer  to 

men 

To  cease  the  wolfish  battles  of  the  den. 
And  so  the  Muses  bind  upon  your  brow 
The  olive  with  the  laurel.     Son  of  song, 
Bear  ever  on  that  cry  against  the  wrong. 


\ 


149 


PERSONS  AND  PLACES 


SAINT  PATRICK 


Wandered  from  the  Antrim  hills, 
Wandered  from  Killala's  rills, 
He  could  hear  upon  the  breeze 
Voices  from  the  Irish  seas. 
Folk  of  Fochlad  called  to  him 
From  their  forest  deep  and  dim; 
And  in  vision  little  hands 
Beckoned  from  the  Irish  lands, 
Where  the  western  billows  spoke 
With  the  Druid  groves  of  oak. 
Evermore  their  cry  did  seem 
Calling,  calling,  through  his  dream 
"Hasten  with  the  flower  of  truth, 
Walk  among  us,  holy  youth!" 

II 

When  he  spread  his  dauntless  sail 
To  the  gladness  of  the  gale, 

153 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Glowering  demons,  mile  on  mile, 
Stood  in  league  around  the  Isle, 
Laughing  out  their  crackling  rage, 
At  the  young,  unf earing  sage. 
There  with  lifted  cross  he  came, 
Breathing  low  the  Sacred  Name, 
And  the  demons,  form  by  form, 
Fled  in  fury  down  the  storm. 
Over  the  Isle  his  spirit  went 
Like  fire  across  the  firmament. 
Kings  at  Tara  caught  the  word, 
Churl  and  kern  and  chieftain  heard, 
Lo,  the  Druid's  mystic  rod 
Fell  down  withered  before  God! 


With  the  frost  he  kindled  fire; 
Drove  the  snakes  from  brake  and  briar, 
Hurling  out  the  writhing  brood 
With  the  lightning  of  his  rood. 
Once  he  stooped,  and  with  his  hand 
Traced  a  cross  upon  the  sand; 
Then  a  wonder — from  the  ground 
Sprang  a  stream  with  silver  sound; 
And  a  blind  man  kneeling  there 
Laved  his  eyelids,  whispering  prayer. 

154 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Then  on  his  relighted  eyes 
Rushed  the  splendor  of  the  skies — 
Flashed  the  water's  glancing  bubble — 
Gleamed  the  gold  across  the  stubble — 
Shined  the  roads  that  have  no  ends — 
Smiled  the  faces  of  old  friends. 

Ill 

And  when  Patrick  fell  on  sleep, 
Twelve  the  days  were,  still  and  deep — 
Twelve  the  days,  with  never  a  night, 
Never  a  cloud  across  the  light. 
Angels  chanted  out  the  hours 
Leaning  from  their  sky-hung  towers; 
Like  a  garden  blown  to  bloom 
Was  the  sweetness  round  his  tomb. 


Fable,  legend,  all  are  true : 
More  than  these  did  Patrick  do ! 
For  he  cleared  the  serpent  den, 
Hiding  in  the  hearts  of  men ; 
Letting  Love's  bright  fountain  spring 
Into  sweetest  murmuring. 
Yes,  the  wise,  heroic  breed 
Bring  us  miracle  indeed. 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 


On  the  dark  he  left  God's  smile, 
Lighting  up  lerne's  Isle; 
And  forever  lives  his  name 
As  the  rose  upon  her  fame. 


156 


A  FRIEND  OF  THE  FIELDS 

(Birthday  Greeting  to  John  Burroughs.) 

Old  neighbor  of  the  fields,  "Good  day!" 
"Good  morrow!"  too,  upon  the  way. 
Boon  fellow  of  the  forest  folk, 
Close  confidant  of  the  reticent  oak, 
Oh,  be  it  long  till  your  "Good-bye!" 
To  friendships  of  the  earth  and  sky. 

Go  on  with  Life  another  mile, 
Lighting  the  way  with  kindly  smile. 
Here  is  the  Blue  Jay  with  his  brag, 
And  here  your  friend,  the  faithful  Crag; 
Here  dwells  your  sister,  the  Bright  Stream 
To  sing  her  dream  into  your  dream — 
All  the  meek  things  that  love  the  ground, 
And  live  their  days  without  a  sound; 
All  the  shy  tenantry  that  fill 
The  holes  and  shelters  of  the  hill; 
And  all  the  bright  quick  things  that  fly 
Under  the  cavern  of  this  sky. 

IS7 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

You  find  the  friendships  of  the  glen 
More  constant  than  the  oaths  of  men. 
Yet  bear  another  while  with  towns, 
The  push  of  crowds,  the  praise  of  clowns. 
Stay  yet  a  little  longer — stay 
To  tell  us  what  the  blackbirds  say; 
To  hear  the  cricket  wind  his  horn, 
And  call  back  summer  to  the  corn;  • 
To  watch  the  dauntless  butterfly 
Sail  the  green  field,  her  nether  sky; 
To  hear,  when  mountain  darkness  falls, 
The  owl's  word  in  his  windy  halls. 


Stay  yet  a  little  longer  here 
To  bind  the  yellow  of  the  year, 
To  hoard  the  beauty  of  the  rose, 
To  spread  the  gossip  of  the  crows, 
To  watch  the  wild  geese  shake  the  sedge, 
Or  split  the  sky  with  moving  wedge, 
To  eavesdrop  at  the  muskrat's  door 
For  bulletins  of  weather  lore, 
To  tell  us  by  what  craft  the  bees 
Heap  honey  in  communal  trees, 
And  by  what  sure  theodolite 
They  gage  the  angles  of  their  flight. 

158 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Still  preach  to  us  uncheerf ul  men 
The  sunny  gospel  of  the  wren; 
And  tell  us  for  another  while 
Of  Earth's  serene,  sustaining  smile. 
Bear  with  us  till  you  must  be  gone 
To  walk  with  White  and  Audubon. 


»S9 


CONSECRATED  GROUND 

(An  ode  read  at  the  New  York  City  Hall,  July  4,  ipu.) 


Let  there  be  prayer  and  praise 

On  these  worn  stones  and  on  these  trodden 

ways; 

For  all  around 
Is  holy  ground, 
Ground  that  departed  years 
Have  hallowed  with  high  dreams 
(Freedom's  immortal  themes) — 
Made  sacred,  too,  with  fall  of  noble  tears. 

II 

Let  there  be  prayer  and  praise, 
For  here  once,  in  the  old,  heroic  days, 
Appeared  our  Washington, 
(Time  had  no  nobler  son !) 

160 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

And  here,  beneath  these  lifted  skies,  he 

heard 
From  the  new  page  God's  last  oracular 

word — 

The  word  the  Bell  of  Liberty  gave  tongue — 
The  word  forever  old,  forever  young — 
The  cry,  "  Let  Freedom  be 
On  land,  on  sea!" 

It  was  the  great  word  that  had  sounded  on 
From  far  Thermopylae  and  Marathon. 


Ill 

Here  they  brought  Lincoln,  dead  but 
deathless — here, 

When  hate  had  torn  the  April  from  the 
year. 

Here  on  that  darkened  day 

They  brought  the  martyr  on  his  home 
ward  way; 

And  in  this  storied  place 

They  laid  him  with  his  hushed,  heroic 
face, 

With  all  the  patient  mercies  of  his  look 

Still  written  there  as  in  the  Judgment 
Book.  .  .  . 

161 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

A  great  soul  that  had  greatly  lived,  and 

then, 
Dying,  sent  out  his  greatness  upon  men. 


IV 

And  here  with  stately  step  and  measured 

chant, 
They  brought  our  stern,  sad,  silent  soldier, 

Grant; 

Only  a  little  more  stilled,  a  little  more, 
Than  he  had  been  on  life's  loud  ways  be 
fore. 

He  was  no  babbler  by  the  noisy  gate: 
Only  in  deeds  was  he  articulate — 
Strong  to  strike  blows  that  Righteousness 

might  live — 
Strong  also  to  forgive. 


V 

So  here  where  we  have  brought  our  great 
est  dead, 

Here  is  a  shrine,  here  is  an  altar  spread, 

162 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Where  we  may  consecrate  our  hearts 
again 

To  their  high  hopes  for  men; 

Knowing  our  heroes  watch  us  from  their 
spheres, 

Still  touched  by  mortal  tears — 

Knowing  they  watch  us  with  their  serious 
eyes, 

There  where  the  deathless  climb  the  death 
less  skies. 


163 


THE  FRIENDLY  DOOR 

(Written  at  the  request  of  the  New  York  women  struggling  to 
raise  $3,000,000  to  erect  Y.  W.  C.  A.  buildings  as  homes  for 
working  girls.) 

What  is  the  word  on  the  wind  to-day, 
What  is  the  rumor  of  dare  and  do? 

Women,  you  come  with  a  dream,  they  say, 
Banded  to  see  that  the  dream  comes 
true. 


Then  gather  as  one  to  your  rallying  camp : 
Here  is  your  chance  to  give  God  praise — 

Here  is  the  hour  to  lift  a  lamp 
To  light  the  march  of  the  coming  days. 

Women,    you    work    for   the    girls    that 

strive, 

Girls  on  the  battle-line  early  and  late — 
You  are  helping  them  keep  their  souls 

alive 

As  they  take  their  chance  in  the  fight 
with  Fate. 

164 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

And  so  at  the  end  of  the  ways  that  wind, 
One  joy  will  be  yours  though  a  world 
goes  down — 

The  joy  to  know  that  you  left  behind 
A  friendly  door  in  a  friendless  town. 


MANHATTAN 

Where  now  the  bells  of  Trinity  are  heard, 
Once  in  the  willows  sang  a  hidden  bird. 
Where  sits  Columbia  upon  the  height, 
A  stag  pressed  ferny  hollows  all  the  night. 
Where  now  the  Tombs  disturbs  the  dark 

with  sighs, 

A  lilied  pond  looked  up  to  happy  skies. 
Where  now  behind  a  Doric  colonnade 
The    busy    pens    compute    the    nation's 

trade, 

There  on  the  rippling  river's  reedy  edge 
A  beaver  built  his  lodge  along  the  ledge: 
And  down  Broadway,  where  now  the  mil 
lions  pass, 

Once  ran  a  crest  of  flowers  in  seas  of 
grass. 


Manhattan,  like  a  kneeling  camel,  lay, 
Humped  with  her  ridges,  looking  toward 
the  Bay, 

166 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

A  hundred  springs,  a  hundred  hasty  rills 

Ran  silverly  among  the  little  hills. 

The    world    was     hushed:    September's 

windy  gold 
Was  edging  all  the  boughs  with  beauty 

old; 

And  far-blown  shreds  of  smoke 
Went  bluely  winding  over  the  woods  of  oak, 
Or  lifted  whirls  that  lived  their  little  span 
Above  the  wigwams  of  Sapponikan. 


A  dusky  hunter  lurking  on  a  ledge 
Looked  to  the  south,  out  to  the  ocean's 

edge. 
And    suddenly    a    sea-thing   with   white 

wings 
Came  like  a  moth  the  wind  of  evening 

brings. 

What  could  the  wonder  be? 
What  shape  of  earth,  what  spirit  of  the 

sea? 

A  look,  a  cry,  a  leap, 
And  he  went  plunging  down  the  rocky 

steep, 

167 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Tearing  through  tangled  vines  a  sudden 

trail, 
Crushing  wild  mints  to  scent  the  tender 

gale- 
Down  the  long  ridges  ran, 
Bearing  the  tidings  to  Sapponikan. 


A  great  white  weary  ship  came  drifting  in. 
Upon  her  stern  a  painted  moon  she  bore, 
Upon  her  poop  the  starry  heaven  she 

wore: 
While  strange,  grave  men  with  beards  upon 

the  chin 
Looked  out  with  wondering  eyes  and  alien 

speech, 

Hailing  the  plumed  men  upon  the  beach. 
Down  plunged  an  anchor,  then  with  loud 

acclaim 
Up  went  the  flag  of  Holland  like  a  flame! 


Note. — When  Henry  Hudson  sailed  into  New  York  Bay,  he 
found  Manhattan  covered  with  ponds  and  little  hills  and  wooded 
valleys.  Indeed,  Manhattan  means  "the  island  of  the  hills." 
These  elevations  were  cut  down,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  early 
years  of  the  last  century.  Where  the  Tombs  now  stands  was  once 
a  pond  containing  a  small  island  encircled  by  green  hills.  Sap 
ponikan  was  an  Indian  village  on  Manhattan. 


168 


SAN  FRANCISCO  FALLING 

A  groan  of  earth  in  labor  pain, 

Her  ancient  agony  and  strain; 

A  tremor  of  the  granite  floors — 

A  heave  of  seas,  a  wrench  of  shores, 

A  crash  of  walls,  a  moan  of  lips, 

A  terror  on  the  towers  and  ships; 

Blind  streets  where  men  and  ghosts  go  by ; 

Whirled  smoke  mushrooming  on  the  sky; 

Roofs,  turrets,  domes,  with  one  acclaim 

Turned  softly  to  a  bloom  of  flame; 

A  thousand  dreams  of  joy,  of  power, 

Gone  in  the  splendor  of  an  hour. 


169 


SAN  FRANCISCO  ARISING 

0  hill-hung  city  of  my  West, 

Where  oft  my  heart  goes  home  to  rest, 
There  came  an  hour  when  all  went  by, 
A  cruel  splendor  on  the  sky. 

Out  of  the  Earth  men  saw  advance 
The  front  of  Ruin  and  old  Chance. 
A  groan  of  chaos  shook  your  frame, 
And  a  red  wilderness  of  flame 
Darkened  the  nations  with  your  name. 

Now,  sons  of  the  West,  I  see  you  rise, 
The  world's  young  courage  in  your  eyes. 
Sons  of  broad-shouldered  Pioneers, 
Seasoned  by  struggle  and  stern  tears — 

1  see  you  rising,  girt  and  strong, 

To  lay  the  new-squared  beams  in  song. 
170 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Build  greatly,  men,  for  she  must  shine 
With  Athens  of  the  singing  Nine — 
Build  airily,  for  she  must  stand 
With  Shiraz  of  the  rose-sweet  land — 
Build  strongly,  for  her  name  must  be 
With  Carthage  of  the  sail-white  sea 


171 


THE  HERO  OF  THE  CROSS 


THE  LORD  OF  ALL 

Milton,  you  did  them  wrong  the  hour  you 

sang 
The  Lord's  Nativity:  the  fair  young 

gods, 
Scorched  by  your  scorn  and  stricken  by 

your  rods, 
Were  loved  of  Him  who  took  the  mortal 

pang. 
He  knew  their  cliffs  that  shone,  their  wells 

that  sprang, 
And   all   the   wonder   of   their  purple 

clime; 

And  as  his  feet  descended  into  Time, 
Their  voices  on  the  hills  and  sea-reefs 
rang. 

So  the  young  gods  of  Hellas  knew  the 

hour 
When  life's  bough  was  to  break  in  sudden 

flower; 

175 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

And  in  the  hush  they  knelt  without  a 

word 
Beside  the  Stall;  for  in  the  little  one 

They  saw  Apollo  come  again,  and  heard 
His  name  cried  in  the  porches  of  the  sun! 


176 


THE  CONSECRATION  OF  THE  COM 
MON  WAY 

And  she  brought  forth  her  first-born  son  .  .  .  and  laid 
him  in  a  manger;  because  there  was  no  room  for  them  in  the  inn. — 
LUKE. 

The  hills  that  had  been  lone  and  lean 
Were  pricking  with  a  tender  green, 
And  flocks  were  whitening  over  them 
From  all  the  folds  of  Bethlehem. 


The  King  of  Heaven  had  come  our  way, 
And  in  a  lowly  stable  lay: 
He  had  descended  from  the  sky 
In  answer  to  the  world's  long  cry — 
Descended  in  a  lyric  burst 
Of  high  archangels,  going  first 
Unto  the  lowest  and  the  least, 
To  humble  bird  and  weary  beast. 
His  palace  was  a  wayside  shed, 
A  battered  manger  was  his  bed : 
An  ox  and  ass  with  breathings  deep 
Made  warm  the  chamber  of  his  sleep. 
177 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

Three  sparrows  with  a  friendly  sound 

Were  picking  barley  from  the  ground: 

An  early  sunbeam,  long  and  thin, 

Slanted  across  the  dark  within, 

And  brightened  in  its  silver  fall 

A  cart-wheel  leaning  to  the  wall. 

An  ox-yoke  hung  upon  a  hook: 

A  worn  plow  with  a  clumsy  crook 

Was  lying  idly  by  the  wheel. 

And  everywhere  there  was  the  feel 

Of  that  sweet  peace  that  labor  brings — 

The  peace  that  dwells  with  homely  things, 


Now  have  the  homely  things  been  made 
Sacred,  and  a  glory  on  them  laid. 
For  He  whose  shelter  was  a  stall, 
The  King,  was  born  among  them  all. 
He  came  to  handle  saw  and  plane, 
To  use  and  hallow  the  profane: 
Now  is  the  holy  not  afar 
In  temples  lighted  by  a  star, 
But  where  the  loves  and  labors  are. 
Now  that  the  King  has  gone  this  way, 
Great  are  the  things  of  every  day! 


178 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  MAGI 

"Now  when  Jesus  was  born  in  Bethlehem,  .  .  .  behold, 
there  came  wise  men  from  the  east  to  Jerusalem.  .  .  .  And, 
lo,  the  star,  which  they  saw  in  the  east,  went  before  them,  till  it 
came  and  stood  over  where  the  young  child  was.  .  .  .  And 
being  warned  of  God  in  a  dream  .  .  .  they  departed  into 
their  own  country  another  way." — MATTHEW. 

With  a  burning  in  our  spirits,  with  a  lifting 

of  our  hands, 
We  have  threaded  fallen  kingdoms,  long 

forgotten  in  the  sands — • 
Dead  kingdoms  where  the  thistles  crowd 

to  guard  the  empty  thrones, 
Where  lone  owls  hoot  their  loud  disdain 

among  the  scattered  stones. 
We  passed  the  ghost  of  Nineveh  upon  the 

windy  waste, 
Where  once  the  Angel  of  the  Sword  the 

paths  of  Eden  paced. 
We   trod   on   crumbled   Babylon,   where 

once  on  towered  hight 
Her  winged  lions  watched  away  the  lone 

Assyrian  night. 

179 


THE   SHOES    OF  HAPPINESS 

Out  of  the  hush  of  the  holy  East,  out  of 

the  night  of  old, 
We  seek  the  One  the  keepers  of  the  sacred 

fire  foretold. 
Long  centuries  the  wise  have  watched 

upon  a  peak  afar, 
Twelve  Magi  keeping  vigil  for  the  rising 

of  the  star. 
Long  ages  they  have  waited  for  the  herald 

of  the  birth, 
The  great  hour  when  a  Child  should  rise 

to  poise  the  shaken  earth. 


We  come  commanded  by  a  star  and  sent 

by  dream  we  go; 
Yet  of  this  hour  hereafter  all  the  worlds 

and  heavens  shall  know. 
This  is  the  One  we  worship  in  the  splendor 

of  the  fire: 
He  is  the  dream  of  every  heart,  he  is  the 

world's  desire. 
The  prophet  watchers  cried  of  him  with 

vision-lighted  eyes: 
They  saw  his  scepter  hush  the  earth  and 

lean  against  the  skies. 

180 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

'Twas  he  the  Vedic  poets  sang  in  ages  that 

are  gone, 
The  fair  young  God  they  knelt  to  in  the 

brightness  of  the  dawn. 
This  is  the  Golden  Child  that  rose,  when 

worlds  began  to  be, 
And  floated  in  the  lotus  flower  upon  the 

mother  Sea. 
This  is  the  Child  of  Mystery  drawn  down 

to  earthly  years, 
To  bear  the  common  burden  and  to  taste 

of  mortal  tears. 


181 


THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  SEPULCHER 

"Now  in  the  place  where  He  was  crucified  there  was  a  garden 
and  in  the  garden  a  new  sepulcher,  hewn  out  of  the  rock.  .  .  . 
There  laid  they  Jesus,  therefore,  and  rolled  a  stone  unto  the  door 
of  the  sepulcher." 

It  was  a  night  of  calls  and  far  replies, 
A  night  of  trembling  for  that  Serpent  head 
In  gulfs  that  were  before  the  eldest  dead — 
A  night  of  whispering  haste  along  the 

skies, 
Prayer,  and  a  wondering  down  of  seraph 

eyes; 
While  husht   Jerusalem   washed   in   the 

moon's  light 
Lay  like  a  brood  of  sepulchers,  ghost-white. 


The  dark  was  dying  silvery,  that  strange 
Still  hour  when  Earth  is  falling  toward 

the  day — • 

That  hour  of  spacious  silence  and  delay 
When  all  things  poise  upon  the  hinge  of 

change. 

182 


THE  SHOES  OF  HAPPINESS 

The  guardsmen  had  grown  silent  on  their 

round; 
Their  fire  was  sinking,  when  a  crash  of 

sound — 
Darkness — a   reel   of    earth — a    rush    of 

light- 
Cleft  rocks — then  scent  of  aloes  on  the 

night! 

Their  faces  turned  to  faces  of  the  dead ; 
Their  spears  fell  clamoring  terribly  as  they 

fled. 

And  He  stood  risen  in  the  guarded  place, 
With  empire  in  his  gesture— on  his  face 
The  hush  of  muted  music,  and  the  might 
That  drew  the  stars  down  on  the  ancient 

night. 

Tall  in  the  first-light,  mystical  and  pale, 
He  stood  as  one  who  dares  and  cannot 

fail, 
As   some   high   conscript   of  the   Bright 

Abodes, 

As  one  still  called  to  travel  the  wild  roads 
In  Love's  divine  adventure — his  white 

face 

Hushed  with  heroic  purpose  for  the  race; 

183 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Yet  wistful  of  the  men  who  should  deny 
him, 

And  wistful  of  the  years  that  should  be 
lie  him. 


With  peace  of  heart  the  blind  world  could 

not  break, 
He  took  a  path  the  young  leaves  keep 

awake. 

Glad  of  the  day  come  back  and  loving  all, 
He  passed  across  the  morning,  felt  the 

cool 
Sweet  kindling  air  blown  upward  from 

the  pool. 
A  burning  bush  was  reddening  by  the 

wall: 

An  oleander  bough  was  full  of  stirs, 
Struck  by  the  robes  of  unseen  messengers. 


The   hills  broke  purpling,   as  the   sun's 

bright  edge 

Pushed  slowly  up  behind  a  rocky  ledge: 
The  hovering  dome  of  the  Temple,  gray 

and  cold, 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

Burned  out  with  sudden,  unexpected  gold. 
A  light  wind  silvered  up  the  olive  slope, 
And  all  the  world  was  wonder  and  wild 
hope! 


AFTER  THE  SEPULCHER 

"The  first  day  of  the  week  cometh  Mary  Magdalene  early. 
.  .  .  unto  the  sepulcher.  .  .  .  And  ...  she  turned 
herself  back,  and  saw  Jesus  standing  .  .  .  Jesus  saith  unto 
her,  Mary.  She  turned  herself  and  saith  unto  him  .  .  .  Mas 
ter." — ST.  JOHN. 

From  silvering  mid-sea  to  the  Syrian  sand, 
It  was  the  time  of  blossom  in  the  land. 
On   field   and   hill   and   down   the   steep 

ravine, 
Ran  foam  and  fire  of  bloom  and  ripple 

of  green. 

The  Sepulcher  was  open  wide,  and  thrown 
Among  the  crushed,  hurt  lilies  lay  the 

Stone. 

A  light  wind  stirred  the  Garden:  every 
where 

The  smell  of  myrrh  was  out  upon  the  air. 

For  three  days  He  had  travelled  with  the 
dead, 

And  now  was  risen  to  go  with  stiller  tread 

The  old  earth  ways  again, 

186 


THE   SHOES   OF   HAPPINESS 

To  stay  the  heart  and  build  the  hope  of 

men. 

He  made  a  luster  in  that  leafy  place, 
His  form  serene,  majestical;  his  face 
Touched  with  a  cryptic  beauty  like  the  sea 
Lit  by  the  moon  when  night  begins  to  be. 


The  cold  gray  east  was  warming  into  rose 
Beyond  the  steep  ravine  where  Kedron 

goes; 
When  suddenly  on  the  morning  faint  with 

flame 

Jerusalem  with  all  her  clamors  came — 
A  snarl  of  noises  from  the  far-off  street, 
Dispute  and  barter  and  the  clack  of  feet. 
A  moment  it  brawled  upward,  and  was 

gone — 

Faded,  forgotten  in  the  deep  of  dawn. 
He  passed  across  the  morning;  felt  the 

cool, 
Keen,  kindling  air  blown  upward  from  the 

pool. 

A  busy  wind  brought  little  tender  smells 
From  barley  fields  and  weeds  by  April 

wells. 

187 


THE   SHOES    OF  HAPPINESS 

Up  in  the  tree-tops  where  the  breezes 

ran, 

The  old  sweet  noises  in  the  nests  began; 
And  once  He  paused  to  listen  while  a  bird 
Shouted  the  joy  till  all  the  Garden  heard. 


There  in  the  morning,  on  the  old  worn 

ways — 

New-risen  from  the  sacrament  of  death — 
He  looked  toward  Olivet  with  tender  gaze. 
Old  things  of  the  heart  came  back  from 

other  days — 

The  happy,  homely  shop  in  Nazareth; 
The  noonday  shadow  of  a  wayside  tree 
That  had  befriended  Him  in  Galilee; 
Dear  talks  in  Bethany  by  the  chimney 

stone, 
And  night-long  lingering  talks  with  John 

alone. 
And  then  He  thought  of  all  the  weary 

men 

He  would  have  gathered  as  a  mother  hen 
Gathers  her  brood  under  her  wings  at 

night. 
And  then  He  saw  the  ages  in  one  flight, 

188 


THE   SHOES   OF  HAPPINESS 

And  heard  as  a  great  sea 
All  of  the  griefs  that  had  been  and  must 
be. 


As  He  stood  looking  on  the  rose-warm  sky, 

Over  the  Garden  went  a  sobbing  cry. 

He  turned  and  saw,  where  the  tall  almonds 

are, 

His  Mary  of  Magdala,  wildly  pale, 
Fast-fleeting  down  the  trail, 
And  suddenly  his  face  was  like  a  star! 
He  spoke;  she  knew — a  blaze  of  happy 

tears; 
Then  "Master!"     .     .     .     and  the  word 

rings  down  the  years! 


189 


BOOKS  BY  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

The  Man  With  The  Hoe,  and 
Other  Poems.  Frontispiece,  Mil 
let's  Famous  Painting  of  the  Hoe 
Man $1.00 

The  Man  With  The  Hoe,  and 
Other  Poems,  with  Illustrations 
by  Howard  Pyle 2.00 

The  Man  With  The  Hoe,  with 

Notes  by  the  Author  ...  .50 

Lincoln,  and  Other  Poems.  Frontis 
piece,  Portrait  of  Lincoln .  .  1.00 

The  Shoes  of  Happiness,  and  Other 
Poems  (New) 1.20 

California  the  Wonderful.  Pro 
fusely  Illustrated  (New)  .  .  .  2.50 

Children  in  Bondage:  The  Child 
Labor  Problem  (New)  .  .  .  1.50 

In  Preparation 
The  Poetry  of  Jesus :  His  Place  as 

a  Literary  Man 

New  Light  on  the  Old  Riddle:  A 
Look  into  the  Mystery  of  Life 

and  Death 

190 


CRITICAL  OPINIONS 

"Edwin  Markham,  the  most  talked  of 
literary  man  in  America.9'— The  Saturday 
Evening  Post. 

"A  great  poet:  a  Miltonian  ring  in  his 
verses  and  a  Swinburnian  richness  in  his 
rhymes  and  rhythms.  I  place  him  higher 
than  Walt  Whitman.99— Max  Nordau. 

66  Truly  and  exquisitely  poetic.99— Ed 
mund  Clarence  Stedman. 

"  The  greatest  poet  of  the  century.99— Ella 
Wheeler  Wilcox. 

"Markham9s  'The  Man  with  the  Hoe9  is 
the  whole  Yosemite — the  thunder,  the  might, 
the  majesty.99 — Joaquin  Miller. 

"Impressive  in  the  highest  degree,  and 
reeks  with  humanity  and  morality.99 — Pro 
fessor  William  James. 

191 


CRITICAL   OPINIONS 

"  Markham' s  'Man  with  the  Hoe'  will  be 
the  battle-cry  of  the  next  thousand  years." — 
Jay  William  Hudson. 

"  It  is  long  since  I  entertained  a  doubt  of 
Mr.  Markharrfs  eventual  primacy  among 
contemporary  American  poets." — Ambrose 
Bierce. 

"Excepting  always  my  dear  Whitcomb 
Riley,  Edwin  Markham  is  the  first  of  the 
Americans. "  — William  Dean  Howells. 

"A  poem  by  Markham  is  a  national 
event." — Robert  Underwood  Johnson. 

"Edwin  Markham  is  one  of  the  greatest 
poets  of  the  age,  and  the  greatest  poet  of  de 
mocracy." — Francis  Grierson. 

"Edwin  Markham  is  the  greatest  poet  of 
the  Social  Passion  that  has  yet  appeared  in 
the  world."— Alfred  Russell  Wallace. 


192 


THE   COUNTRY   LIFE   PRESS 
GARDEN   CITY,   N.   Y. 


•ilidlfiHIi^^R 
14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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'78 


JUN261983 

JEC.CIR.  ^26  '83 


LD  21A-4Chn-ll,'63 
(El602slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


U.C.  BERKELEYLIBRARJES 


